Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 422(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
I sighed. “I promise, I have no intention of being locked up anywhere, ever again.” My spine chilled despite the balmy August heat as I recalled the telltale jangle of metal against concrete. I had to actually look down at my ankle to make sure it wasn’t attached to a wall and bleeding from the metal biting into my skin.
It was bare—a nifty little takeaway from the event being that I could no longer wear shoes with an ankle strap. Today I wore wedge mules and a long, tight, striped midi dress. I loved fashion again, but my style would always be split into two sections BA—before attack—and AA—after attack.
“Okay, well, give me a call if you need anything else,” Ollie muttered, not at all sounding convinced.
Ollie would never tell me to be careful. I appreciated that.
“Will do,” I replied, ending the call and shoving my phone back in my purse.
It immediately started ringing. I knew it would be Colby, so I ignored it. This had nothing to do with him.
The house was like a lot of the houses in Garnett… Cute, New Mexico vibe with wild but well-tended gardens. This little town was an enigma.
It was an oasis in the dessert, which was why I fell in love with it in the first place. I still felt as if I didn’t fit, but my gnarled roots were embedding themselves into the soil. I had nowhere else. And this bitch was trying to chase me out.
A serial killer had tried to do that already.
I wasn’t about to let some plucky reporter run me out of town.
In fact, the way I was feeling right now, I’d do just about anything to make sure she stayed the fuck away from me and got out of my town.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
Emily didn’t look surprised when she answered the door. She looked like … she’d been expecting me. That pissed me off further.
“Sariah, I’m so glad you came,” she greeted me warmly. “Come on in.”
Although she stepped back to let me in, I bowled forward, purposefully bumping her shoulder as I did so.
She hadn’t been expecting it, so she went back on a foot. That was satisfying.
Though she definitely got the message of the tone of this visit, she didn’t say anything as she closed the door behind me. She was that hungry for a story, willing to put herself in danger for it.
Not that I was dangerous.
I didn’t think.
The place was nice. A smart investor had taken the small but cute cottage and renovated it, making it clean, trendy and comfortable with velvet covered sofas, funky art on the walls and lots of rugs.
The coffee table was cluttered with paper, a laptop open on the sofa.
If Hades had paid her a visit, she didn’t get scared off.
Impressive.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Water or coffee?”
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, ignoring her questions. “All of this.” I waved my hand at the shit covering the table. “What gives you the right to do all of this?”
She tilted her chin up, her veil of friendliness disappearing. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
I let out a cold laugh. “You certainly fucking do owe me an explanation since it’s my pain and trauma you are exploiting and capitalizing off.”
She had the self-awareness to look affronted. “I’m doing what any good journalist would do.”
I rolled my eyes. “So you’re not looking for a cent or for any kind of professional acclaim?”
Her lips pursed. “No.”
“You’re a shitty liar, honey. And I might even say a shitty person, but I can’t because if I were in your position, I might be doing the exact same thing.” I picked up a decorative vase and examined it before putting it back down. It was tempting to throw it at her. “In fact, I was in your position, fascinated with the morbid, sickened by how enchanted I was, how obsessed. And look where that got me.”
“There is no threat now,” she protested, folding her arms across her chest.
“No,” I agreed. “Not now. Not to you. You get to investigate this safely because the monster who did this to me is gone, and you think you can pick over the bones like some vulture. Because you feel you have the right.”
I held up my hand, pacing around the room. She stayed where she was, watching me intently.
“I did the same thing,” I told her, peering at her laptop. It was on my social media profile. I hadn’t posted shit in years.
My gaze darted back up to her. “But I’ll tell you right now, what you’re doing is wrong. It’s sick. Selfish. But you want to know anyway, don’t you? Even though you feel slightly ashamed. You want to know because I’m not a person to you. I’m a commodity.”
I leaned forward to snap the laptop shut, hoping the screen cracked.