Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
For now, I’ll wait a while for Luxury to see reason or the unveiling of Dr. Everhart. Either way, I will have her in my life.
42
LUXURY
Visions of red . . . I saw crimson rage, death, darkness the day Victor Tudor ensnared me. All this time, I convinced myself that a subtle light emanated from him. I disregarded every sign that signified he was like the Russian, swathed in a more appealing package.
The constant drone of rain lulled me to sleep last night as I dreamed of blood.
Victor Tudor’s evil, Luxxie. No Googling his name, no seeking him out. Ever. Whatever you find would just be lies, like the accolades and degrees that appeared online when you initially googled him.
I remove the rough, knit blanket and stretch on the lounger next to my father’s hospital bed. The surgeon said Dad would sleep for a while longer, allowing the anesthesia time to wear off.
“Hey, Daddio, while you rest, I can make statements that I’d never admit to. Like, you were right about Victor,” I murmur, inspecting the bandages at his waistline. “And I’m so sorry for taking you for granted. We should . . . we should leave New York.”
“Ma’am, good morning.” The nurse on the overnight shift peeps inside.
“Good morning. I thought you’d be off already.”
“Completing the last of my rounds, and then I’ll come by again to introduce you to the nurse who will take over,” she shares, inspecting Dad’s vital signs.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I reply, grabbing my purse. While strolling out of the room, I jolt at the sight of one of the men Victor left. His legs are extended, arms enfolded over the other, but he inspects me with a keen eye. When he starts to rise, I gesture toward the public restrooms across the corridor since the one in the room is overwhelmed with medical equipment.
Clearly, my nudged chin doesn’t deter him from getting up. At the end of the corridor, on both sides, two more men mill about—Bobby George’s men. If Victor’s presence taught me anything, I’m more alert now than ever. After a quick knock, the guy peeks inside the lady’s restroom.
“All clear.”
While I complete my morning ministrations, I’m obsessed with Victor Tudor. How could I love someone who takes lives? Who plays God?
That thought carries me throughout the day while I glare at the muted, tiny television mounted above the foot of my father’s bed. Hours later, it sounds like someone’s calling my name underneath a raging current.
My gander flies toward the door as I come back to reality. The private security who replaced the peeping tom this morning regards me with the kindest of brown eyes.
“You have a visitor. An Uncle Red?” Although a lot less stiff than the others, his eyes fall over me, gauging my comprehension.
I tussle my hair, hurrying to my feet. “Please let him in.”
Although not blood related, Uncle Red and my father were frenemies in college. Like my father, Uncle Red is of mixed descent, hence the nickname.
Fondly, Momma used to share how borderline neurotic both men were. She worked at a diner off the university campus grounds where she met the two guys. They had fought over her, but Daddy won. I could tell by the way Momma talked Red must have been the good-looking one back in the day. A chemical fire burned him in the laboratory when I was a child, covering most of his body in burns. Once he healed, I found I was terrified of him for the first time in my life. However, after a couple of jokes, I warmed up to the man who was my first hero.
He continued to be my advocate, chewing my dad out for removing the training wheels from my bike as a child. If ever there was a person you’d want on your side, it would be Uncle Red.
“Seems I’m always coming around when something bad happens.” Uncle Red purses his lips as he enters the room. A beige linen suit covers the scars on his long arms and legs, but the light skin on his face catches the light from the opened curtains. The skin’s glossed over and disfigured. I haven’t seen him since Mom’s funeral. Pushing down my grief at the memory, I hug him.
“Oh, hush. You come anytime I need you. I’m glad you’re here.” I delight in his fatherly embrace.
“Where else would I be when my little Luxxie calls?” The man who affectionately gave me my nickname places a customary Rubik cube on the table beside Dad.
“Where do you and Dad find those brainiac toys nowadays, huh?” I laugh as Uncle Red scoops one arm around me and places another hand on the railing of Dad’s bed.
“Amazon. Where else, child?”
“Child,” I snort-laugh. “You remind me of . . . mom.”