Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Waverly . . .”
Mykel’s voice comes from behind me, but I don’t turn.
I don’t look at him. I just keep washing.
“It won’t come off,” I say softly. “It won’t come off, Mykel. I keep washing it but it won’t go away . . .”
My voice hitches and in moments, he’s behind me. He reaches for the medicine cabinet and comes up with a different bottle soap. I don’t know what it is, but quietly he reaches for my hand and takes it, turning me slightly towards him. I don’t look at him; I just keep staring at my hands. He puts a few pumps of the cleanser into my palm and starts rubbing it in. It’s grainy, but it works. Immediately, the blood starts coming out of my skin. Mykel rubs and rubs, massaging it between my fingers, over my palm and down my wrist.
I just watch him work, staring at my hands like they’re foreign to me. It feels like they’re not my own.
“There was so much blood,” I whisper.
“I’m goin’ to get it off, yeah?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
He washes my hands until they’re clean, so clean I can’t see a single speck of blood left. Once he’s done with that, he stands before me and points to my clothes. “Take them off. I’ll get rid of them.”
I stare down, still caked in blood and dirt—far more than I first thought. I don’t cry, even though the lump in my throat is making me feel like I might just crumble to the ground and not get back up. I carefully start stripping out of my clothes, not caring that Mykel is in here. I don’t care about anything else except getting this blood off. Everything else means little, in the scheme of things.
Mykel turns the shower on as I get undressed, and when I’m completely naked, he turns back towards me. For a moment, he just stares, his eyes a little hooded. But, he doesn’t look at me like he wants to eat me alive and fuck my brains out. He looks at me with a new appreciation that I haven’t seen in gaze before. He’s looking at me like he completely respects that I trust him enough to take my clothes off, to let him help me. He looks at me like I’m brave, and strong.
I like how he’s making me feel in this horrid time. His eyes are making my soul feel a little less broken.
He steps forward and reaches his hand out, running a finger over a sore spot above my eye. “You’ve got a cut. Did someone hurt you?”
I shake my head. “No. I had a bit of an accident with the shovel.”
As soon as I say those words, my throat feels tight. I hate that I just buried a man, a cop . . .
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He hands me the soap he just used to clean my hands, and he explains that I need to rub it all over me a few times and wash it off. I step into the shower, and I do as he asks. I wash myself until my skin is so clean it’s actually sore. Only then do I step out. Mykel has already removed my clothes, cleaned the sink, and has some fresh items for me on the counter top.
Nobody would ever know I just defiled his bathroom with the blood of another man.
“Get changed. Zariah is here; she’s goin’ to want to talk to you. You up for that?”
I nod.
I have to tell them what happened. I have to go out there and explain exactly what went down. How Dax killed Bennett, how I promised to help him, how I made sure to carefully mark the way to where we buried him. I got as much information as I possibly could, and I think it may just be enough to end this.
But I’m scared.
I’m scared because my DNA is now all over the crime scene.
I’m scared somehow, some way, I’m going to be linked to all of this.
A dead body was never in the plan.
Never.
I dry off, and Mykel leaves the room so I can get dressed. When I’m done, I stare at myself in the mirror and the woman staring back at me makes me cringe and turn away. When I was going into this, if I had known that I’d feel this way, I would have said no. I would have run in the opposite direction.
I don’t want to be this woman.
Yet, I don’t want to be the woman who stands back and lets all those other girls suffer.
Either way, I’m a damned mess.
I take a deep breath and walk out into the living area where everyone is sitting, patiently waiting for me to tell them what happened. Waiting for me to share all the details on an event that’s going to change absolutely everything. None of this is going to plan. Nothing is working out how it should, and I’m not sure yet if that’s a good or a bad thing.