Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” Tony pries.
Armon, Tony, the guns, none of that matters at this moment. Tony’s ranting and Armon’s screams are all a distant memory now. My only concern is Siân’s pending response hanging in the balance. More dots followed by what feels like the longest pause before she finally answers him.
Siân: I do. But it doesn’t excuse you.
Taj: You’re right.
Taj: I’m sorry.
Taj: Forgive me?
The messages come back-to-back, not even giving her the chance to answer him.
Siân: I don’t know. You were out of line.
Taj: Let me convince you. I promise I’ll make it up to you. *wink face emoji*
Another pause.
Standing in the center of the room, I feel my nerves on edge, fists clenched tight around my gun and phone as anger consumes me. My vision blurs as her next text comes across the screen, and I can no longer think straight.
Rage becomes fury, and all I know is I want someone dead. And without a word or another thought, I spin on the heels of my boots and stalk toward Armon’s now pale frame. His eyes grow wide at the lift of my gun, and he raises a hand in my direction.
“Christian. Wai—” His words die on his tongue the moment I pull the trigger, putting a bullet in his skull.
I turn and head for the door before his arm can fall back to his side, and the warmth leaves his lifeless body.
Tony gasps, and then a slew of profanities comes next. “You weren’t supposed to kill him. You fucking psycho.”
His words mean nothing to me. Tony has been around me long enough to know that I don’t care who has to die. If someone is standing in my way, then they are dead, and since I can’t get to Taj just yet, tonight that person was Armon.
I glare at him for a moment. Ignoring his comment, I reply. “Take the guns and clean this shit up.”
6
SIN
A person might think I enjoy going to bars as often as I frequent them, but that’s not the case. After I came home from spending the day with Cynthia, I was exhausted. That, coupled with being angry at Taj’s reaction earlier in the day, left me feeling even worse.
As soon as I walked through the door, Kyla bombarded me, begging me to go out with her to see Nova, a local band playing at one of the college bars down the street on Saturday. I was so mentally unprepared for her ambush that I agreed. Then I went and fell into bed.
Taj only made things worse when he texted me, claiming he wanted to “make it up to me.” I understood full well what that meant, and I wasn’t ready to see him yet. His apology via text didn’t seem genuine, and I felt like forgiving him right now would make me a pushover.
So, it was good that Kyla invited me out.
However, right this second, I am regretting my choice to come here. The band has already played three songs and is getting ready to take a break. I am sipping a glass of whiskey. I don’t really like the taste of it, but I enjoy the path of warmth it carves out in my body as I swallow the liquid down. With the whiskey settling in my stomach, I fish my phone out of my pocket.
There are no texts, and that only angers me more. She’s ignoring me, and that’s infuriating when she’s the one who invited me. I type out a text and hit send before I can stop myself. It’s the fourth one I’ve sent, but I don’t feel guilty. I’m not a clingy friend. I just don’t like being ghosted.
A server swings by the table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“I’ll take another whiskey, please.”
She nods and saunters away. My phone pings with an incoming text, and my stomach knots. Something bad better have happened for her not to be here.
My fingers hover over the screen of my phone when I see the text isn’t from Kyla, but Christian.
Christian: Got any plans tonight, beautiful?
I lick my lips and look around the bar. This strange cross between guilt and excitement bubbles up inside me. I’m not really doing anything wrong if I message him back, right?
I stare at the text, contemplating my next move. He called me beautiful. There’s a nagging at the back of my mind telling me I should be leery.
I text back.
Me: Beautiful?
His reply is almost instant.
Christian: Would you prefer sexy? Stunning? Gorgeous? Since you’re all those things and more.
I can’t stop the smile from appearing on my lips. Seconds tick by and then another text comes in.
Christian: You never answered me. Do you have any plans for tonight?
My cheeks heat. All he’s done is call me beautiful. This is stupid to be reacting to his texts like I’m a teenage girl who has never been kissed.