Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I rattle off a string of curses in Spanish, which makes him bark laughter.
"I've told you a thousand times, son," he says, "if you're going to curse my old ass to the devil, at least do it in English so I can appreciate it."
I take the file from him. "I'm taking the rest of the day off. I need to take care of something with Faith."
"Speaking of which, I still haven't found anything concrete on her parents." He cocks his head to the side, pinning me with a look I prefer to ignore. "You sure she's not lying about her mom?"
"She doesn't lie to me," I growl, annoyed by the insinuation that she isn't trustworthy. She might not tell me everything, but she isn't a liar.
He eyes me for a moment and then grins, shaking his head. He doesn't say anything though, which is probably for the best. The last thing I need to do is piss him off, and my temper is quickly fraying.
"See you tomorrow," I mutter before stomping out. I cross the hall and set the file on my desk while I quickly make sure my office is in order. I hate leaving shit lying around. A cluttered office makes it hard for me to think. I get distracted by the mess.
Aside from a couple of case files, there isn't much to straighten. I quickly finish up my report and shut down the system before grabbing my phone from my pocket.
Faith's had a phone since the first day I told her I'd get her one, but I don't think she ever uses it. I tap out a text to her anyway, letting her know that I'm on my way. Surprisingly, her response comes a few moments later. It's one simple word—okay—but it gives me hope that maybe she's starting to thaw a little bit.
"Where are we going?" Faith asks an hour and a half later, her voice wavering from flat to curious and then back again.
I fight the urge to smile at the evidence that she isn't nearly as bored by this little outing as she's pretending to be. Her expression is carefully blank, her hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie. She stares out the window of the SUV, refusing to meet my gaze. Ever since I picked her up from Roman's, she's been trying her best not to bend toward me…but I can practically feel the ice melting.
It's about damn time. Her being angry with me is exhausting.
"You'll see," I say.
She mutters beneath her breath and then sniffs loudly.
I turn the radio on, finding a Top 40 station for her.
"How do people listen to this shit?" I grimace, my ears bleeding when some woman starts singing about a DNA test. The song is catchy, but it's not exactly what I'd call music. It's honestly terrible.
"The only popular music I know is what Nikolai's men played," Faith says, her voice soft. "Ilya had a jukebox in the bar. Most of the songs made my head hurt."
"What was your least favorite?"
"The one by Ke$ha and Pitbull. Timber."
"Why that one?" I roll to a stop at a light, sneaking a quick glance over at her. She's turned away from me slightly, looking out the window, but her hair is piled up on top of her head, allowing me to see the soft curve of her cheek and the way her full lips are turned down into a sad frown.
"It was playing when the shooting happened," she whispers. Her throat works as she swallows convulsively. "Listening to them sing about having a great night while people were screaming and dying was macabre."
Dios. She never ceases to catch me off guard. I keep expecting her to give me stock answers to my questions, but she never does. She always has a reason for every like, every dislike. It's always deeper than I expected, though I should know by now that she's not like most people. She sees things most don't, remembers what most forget. Her mind is an incredible thing, her heart full of empathy and compassion when most who have lived like she did would have hardened and turned bitter.
"What was your favorite song?" I pull off again when the light turns green, taking a left. Our destination is up ahead, far enough from gang territory to be the last place anyone would think to look for her.
"Human by Rag'n'Bone Man."
"Why?"
Instead of answering me this time, she shrugs. I file that away for later, knowing the answers she refuses to give are as significant as those she gives willingly. More so, perhaps. I'm just not sure what that means yet. I'll have to look up the song to see if I can piece together why it speaks to her.
When I pull into the parking lot, she glances at the building and then back to me, her nose scrunching up. "We're going to the movies?"