Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
If anything, I want to play with her again.
“Fuck,” I whisper and tear myself away from the window. I walk into my office, throw my drink down my throat, and create a new email address from behind several dozen impenetrable anonymous layers: jackal@mask.com.
Then I type a message. I stare at the words for a long time. The mask sits in the corner of my room, staring at me, and I can feel Laura’s thighs under my fingers, and I can feel her heart hammering against my body.
This is by far the biggest mistake of my life.
But I hit send.
Chapter 3
Laura
Sweat rolls down my back as I slam my hammer against the chisel. Pieces of marble chip off into the air, some of them pinging against my goggles, others scratching my arms. I’m covered in dust, my denim overalls a chalky white. It’s going to take an hour to get it all out of my hair. And I don’t care at all.
My arms are tired. My back hurts from hitting the stone over and over again. But I can’t stop, not until the vision I had releases itself from the block.
There’s this old cliché. Sculptors simply see the shape they want, then go find it in the stone. But in my case, that’s completely true: I start from a fully formed idea of where I want to go then I start cracking, smashing, hammering, chiseling, breaking, until finally I end at the vision I’ve had from the start.
It’s always pieces of a body. I was on a hands and tongues phase, but now I’m working on an ear.
And for the first time in my life, it’s not a human ear.
No, the vision was clear: it’s elongated, soft and velvety, but sharp and masculine, and very dark, obsidian black.
A jackal’s ear.
“I keep forgetting, but I have a check for you.”
I start and look over my shoulder. Angelo’s lounging in the corner of the basement. I forgot he was there, honestly. My brother’s the only person in the whole world I’d ever let watch me work like this. I have other siblings—Simon, Davide, and Elena—but none of them are allowed around when I’m at work. They’re barely tolerated in my space at all.
Angelo’s different. I don’t really know why, maybe because we’re close in age, or maybe because he was there when all that bad shit happened. He was the first person I told, and he was the one that was there when I was a total, utter wreck of a human. He helped bring me back, and I’m not fully myself, and I probably never will be, but what I am is thanks to him.
“Keep the money.” I turn back to my work. “Not like we need it.” The Bianco Famiglia is obscenely rich and powerful. We live in a place we call the oasis. It’s an entire city block in the heart of the nicest area in Chicago, and we control every house and every square inch. Guards patrol the street and lurk on the roofs. It’s the safest place in the world, and it’s fully funded by our family’s illicit activities.
“You earned it.” He walks over to my workbench and places a check in the middle. “I’m glad we did that, you know. People had a lot of good things to say about your sculptures. I just wish you’d let me put your name on everything.”
“I don’t need attention.” Slam, slam, slam—more stone drops down. I can see the jackal’s ear in my mind. I can feel his fingers on my hips—the night sky endless above me, the drop tugging me down below—and a shiver runs down my spine.
“At least promise we’ll do another one. You have plenty of work.”
I tense for a second and nearly screw up. It was hard enough selling the dozen pieces we brought last time. I’m not sure I can handle letting go of more, but it’s impossible to make Angelo understand that. These aren’t just works of art—they’re parts of me.
“We’ll see.”
He grunts as I go back to ignoring him, and eventually, he leaves. I feel bad, pushing him away like that, but I need my space and he usually understands. I lose myself in the pure physicality of sculpting and time slips past, running over me like water, until my stomach’s rumbling loudly and my arms feel like jelly. I step back, catching my breath, and realize my whole body’s aching from constant work. I’m in really good shape—not because I exercise, but because I’m constantly breaking rocks all day.
Time for a break. I put my tools away and pause to look down at the check. It’s for three million dollars, which is way more than I would’ve guessed. I rip it into pieces and head upstairs.
Hot shower. Good water pressure. Chalky, muddy dust rinses off my skin. I picture Jackal here with me, his hands caressing my skin, cupping my small breasts, tweaking my hard nipples, sliding up between my thighs and finding my pussy dripping wet. I can imagine his groan of pleasure. I touch myself in a way I haven’t in a really long time and my fingers dig into the tile wall as I gasp with pleasure.