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)
“The cops said it meant nothin’, and that’s when they gave up. But I kept lookin’, and what did I see?”
I shake my head, confused.
“Look closer,” he murmurs, pointing to the lower right-hand corner of the photo.
In it, there’s a shot of someone’s arm. It’s hard to see, and unless you’re looking closely, you wouldn’t notice, because there are a few other people in the photo. This arm, though, is extended, like whoever it belongs to has just handed something to Mykel’s parents.
“That arm belongs to Harlow. Took me a fuckin’ long time to find her. The only way I could locate her was that unique tattoo beneath her palm. Cost me a lot to get it cleaned up enough to see what it is.”
“What is it?” I ask, squinting and leaning in closer. It’s really difficult to see. There is some sort of design on the inside of her wrist that runs up her inner forearm a little.
“That.” He points to another picture of a blown-up tattoo that’s a little clear. It’s definitely unique—a pattern of sorts, with a cross and three names on it, though you can’t see the names. The unique part, however, is the symbols that are above it. They’re, not Japanese, not Chinese, but some sort of symbols that clearly stand for something. It looks like a personally designed tattoo.
“I went to every studio in New York, and finally, after fuckin’ weeks, I found the man who did it. He wouldn’t talk at first, but with a little persuasion, he told me her name and that’s as far as I got. I couldn’t find her and still haven’t been able to find her since. All I know is that she’s part of this somehow.”
I mean, he could be right, but it could also be a huge coincidence that her hand just happened to be in the picture. She could have been dancing; she could have been a waitress handing over a drink. It could have been a mix of things.
“What if it doesn’t have anything to do with her, and you’ve been chasing the wrong lead?”
He looks to me, his eyes narrowing. “How so?”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong or anything,” I say quickly. “I’m just wondering what if that hand has nothing to do with anything? She could have just been someone in the picture who happens to look like she’s handing something over?”
He frowns, as if this hasn’t even crossed his mind. “You think I’m lookin’ for the wrong thing?”
“No, not at all. I just think you need to expand your horizons, so to speak. What about the other people in the picture? Have you talked to the owners of that club? Have you investigated that side of things?”
He stares at me, and then steps forward, taking my face in his hands and shocking me entirely. “You are somethin’ else, Waverly. Help me with this.”
He’s asking for my help?
Oh god.
He wants my help.
My heart swells and I smile. “I’ll help you. We’ll find out what happened to your parents.”
“My sister had them officially declared dead after five years, and I haven’t spoken to her since. She stopped calling me when she found out I inherited the house.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister. I’m sorry that happened to you.”
“I’ve got two sisters and a brother, none that live close.”
“Are you close to them?” I ask.
“None of them have had a great deal to do with me when I took over this house. They think I did something to have it handed to me, but I didn’t. I just stuck around when Mom and Dad needed me. They got a lot of fuckin’ money when it all went down. They certainly didn’t fuckin’ miss out.”
They sound selfish—not that I’m going to tell him that because that would be rude. “I’m sorry that happened, but I’ll try to help you solve this the best I can. God knows I need the distraction.”
He studies me, his eyes intense. “You shouldn’t be goin’ back in there, Waverly. It’s dangerous.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “Yeah, I know.”
“You don’t owe the fuckin’ club a thing.”
“No, I don’t, but I made them a promise, and I’m going to keep that promise because they need me to do that. Not only do they need me to do it, but the girls whose lives are being destroyed by Dax need me to do it.”
“There’s always a monster out there, Waverly. Can’t save them all.”
“No, but I can sure as hell try.”
He studies me and then exhales and murmurs, “You need to get some rest.”
He takes a few steps toward the door and I take one more look at the board. I zone in on a picture of his mother and only then do I realize something so incredibly obvious. She looks a lot like Briella. It’s in that moment that I understand something, something incredibly huge—Mykel thinks he’s in love with Briella because she reminds him of his mother.