Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Flipping the burner phone open, I grinned maniacally.
It had one number saved in it.
Taite’s.
How did I get Taite’s number, you ask?
Kaylee. She’d gotten better at hacking, learning as she went.
She hated Taite as much as I did, so we became fast friends. Over the last six months, we’d shared important information we could figure out about Taite. Such as cell phone numbers.
Taite had changed his cell phone number multiple times over the last six months, but Kaylee always managed to get it.
I had no clue what Taite had done to Kaylee because I refused to pry, what I did know was that she was integral in the ‘making Taite DeRosa’s life a living hell’ scheme and neither one of us wanted to break the law beyond petty inconveniences.
Picking up the phone, I typed out a message.
Me:
You looked so good yesterday. I’m so glad that we got to catch up, and if the offer is still available, I’d love to go to the Cayman Islands with you.
The TikTok feed I was watching live didn’t disappoint. And, as if the angels had prepared the way for my message to have the greatest impact, Taite pulled out his phone and started swiping through something.
Alana practically pressed her face against his to watch, and I steepled my fingers with an evil grin.
Whomever was filming had a great view of Taite and Alana’s table.
So I got a bird’s eye view of the reaction Alana had when Taite got the text message from me.
She froze, her face a mask of surprise, then looked up at Taite.
Taite, confused, leaned forward to press his hand on Alana’s cheek, but she jerked away from his touch.
She pointed at something on the phone, then jerked her finger up at him.
Though I couldn’t hear the play-by-play, I could see that she was most assuredly having a reaction to what she’d read.
Taite picked up his phone, and his face became murderous.
I pick up the burner phone again, then start to text him a picture of Keda.
It was the same one I texted him every single time.
A photo of Keda, her smiling face, the day we were set to go to his stupid show.
It was just hours before she decided to take her own life because of what he did.
Then, I decided not to send it, because it might undo the damage I’d already done with the text from the ‘girlfriend.’
Smiling, I opened up the cabinet where I stashed all ‘burned’ burner phones, knowing that number was now blocked for all future uses, and tossed it into a small basket filled with four others exactly like it.
The invention of the untraceable phones you could pick up from the grocery store checkout aisle was great.
With that thought in my head, I grabbed my Danly—my Stanley dupe—and headed to the front door.
My iguana, Godzilla—Zilla for short—sat in his hammock above the door.
I didn’t know why he liked being there. It was almost always hard to get in and out of the door because his tail fell into the way, and I had to be super careful not to hurt it when I arrived and left.
But at least with the hammock I no longer had claw marks in the wall above the door where he’d hung out on the small ledge above it.
At one time, I assumed that ledge held a heater of some sort. But now it was just an eye sore, and something I doubted the apartment complex ever had plans to fix.
“All right, Zilla,” I said as I searched for my keys in my purse that held a week’s worth of food, clothes, and accessories. “Hold down the fort.”
It wasn’t actually a week’s worth. It was more like a couple of hours.
As a woman, I naturally carried a lot of things.
In my purse right at that moment was a Glock 43 in Tiffany Blue—no, I didn’t go anywhere in downtown Dallas without carrying—a handful of granola bars, a couple of spare magazines, a small bottle of water, deodorant, my lunch for that day, and a lot of other odds and ends.
That was why I still had my head down searching for the key when I got the door open.
My fingers had just closed on the cool metal when I backed out of the door ass first.
Placing the bag down nicely right outside the door, I was just reaching up and moving Zilla’s tail out of the way to close the door when a deeply amused voice said, “An iguana?”
I froze, Zilla’s tail in my hand, and tried not to involuntarily give a full body shiver at the deep tone of the man’s voice.
I didn’t have to turn around and look to know who was behind me.
If the voice hadn’t alerted me, the way my body reacted to his close proximity would have.
I’d had my share of boyfriends—though only a very select few sexual partners—but none of them had made me feel like this. It was like some raw, magnetic, animal attractiveness to the man that I had no hope of controlling.