Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“I want you to train like you mean it. Not just go for a fuckin’ jog on the sand like a goddamned tourist.”
This time she laughs. And her whole sour face changes into… something else completely. She’s got an unusual look to her. A face you just want to stare at. So cold. But then that smile, so warm.
“Like a tourist, huh?”
I shrug, trying to hold my own smile in.
“It’s really none of your business, Eason Dead Eyes.”
“It’s just Eason. I really don’t like to be called Dead Eyes.”
“Then why do they call you Dead Eyes?”
“That’s a story you haven’t earned, girl.”
This stops her for a moment. Her faces changes once again. Not sour, not amusement, but… agreement. “OK. Fine. I take it you would like to give me pointers?”
“I would.”
“What could I do to improve?”
Her Russian accent comes through. It catches me off guard and it takes me a few seconds to recover because I want her to keep talking just so I can keep listening to it. “Work harder. Go faster.”
“Why? Why should I bother?”
“You should bother because if you want to kill people—specific people—then you’re gonna have to do a lot better than what I’ve seen. Meet me at South Pointe Pier at four a.m. And if you’re even one second late, the whole thing is off. So maybe ya better show up early.”
Then I turn and walk away.
I want her to call after me. And I also want her to walk away with me. But that’s mostly because of that guy she’s with.
Not her boyfriend. Irina the Storm has one friend and that is Nandy Jardinez. Daughter of one of the owners of the restaurant where she sometimes works.
I know this is a fact. I also know that Irina isn’t interested in that guy.
If she were, I wouldn’t let her go back in there. Not because I give a fuck about who she dates, but because a man in her life—a man who isn’t me, that is—would complicate things.
And I’m not going to put up with complications.
Irina is waiting for me at the bottom of the pier when I show up at three forty-five. She’s wearing black training shorts, a pink, cropped, zipper hoodie with the hood up, and a scowl on her face.
“Don’t look at me that way.” She turns and faces the water.
“If you don’t want to be here, go home. If ya do, then fall in.” I take off towards the water and the sound of her footfalls on sand follows me as I enter the wet sand. We don’t talk at all. Just keep running. I set a fast pace. She really isn’t slow, not for a girl or even a man—who isn’t a fighter, that is. But I was running behind her all last week and the pace was painfully sluggish compared to how hard I usually run.
She keeps up and that’s all that matters. I don’t care how she does that, as long as she does.
When we get to Bal Harbor Pier she thinks we’re going to turn around and go back. That’s what she’s been doing, so she slows a little. But I keep going, cutting over to the road, taking the bridge across the channel, and then making our way back to the beach to continue our run.
She’s doing calculations in her head now. I know she is. How far is this? How much distance will it add to the total? Am I going to be able to run back?
It’s twelve miles.
It will bring the one-way total to nearly twenty-three miles.
There’s no way in hell she will be able to run home.
Hard lessons are the best lessons. But I’m sure she knows this.
We arrive at Dania Beach Pier around seven. I’ve already shaved nearly thirty minutes off the time she was doing last week and she is dying.
She bends over, catching her breath. She doesn’t puke though. It’s not that much more than she’s been doing, it’s just double her one-way distance with a much faster time. When she straightens up, she doesn’t look at me, but glances over at the parking lot.
“Are ya looking for a bus stop?”
“Funny.” She’s still breathing hard and her face is bright red.
“Ya OK there, darlin’? Gonna puke? Pass out?”
“Fuck you.”
“You’re thinking about that run home, aren’t ya?”
She turns her back to me and stares out at the water. I watch her, wondering for the thousandth time if this is a good idea or not.
It’s not.
But I’m gonna do it anyway.
“Well, good news.”
“Yeah?” She turns to face me, breathing almost under control now. “What’s that?”
“We’re gonna have breakfast before we go home.”
She stares at me for a moment, blinking. “Uhhh, no. I’m gonna pass.”
“Nah, you’re not. You’re gonna eat.”
“Why? So you can see me puke on the way home?”
“Come on. I know a place.”