Page 120 of Gangsters and Guns


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But all I want to do is run and hide, become invisible. I could flee the city and start anew somewhere else, but I can’t abandon Mitch-bitch, even if the thought has crossed my mind more than once.

Before I realize it, I’m parking my car and heading into the apartment building, hoping I don’t run into anyone along the way. Luckily, the place is as vacant as the gaping hole in my chest. What is this feeling? This ache? Is it longing? I refuse to believe I’ve allowed those men a place in my heart, but denying that truth would only be adding to my pile of lies.

I’m suffocating, barely able to breath anymore. Every inflation of my lungs seems harder, the pressure on my chest almost unbearable. So when I come home and toss my purse on the island, I have no intention of even getting out of bed for the next two days.

I plan on shutting off my phones and laptop and hiding from the world in the comfort of my bed. At least I planned to.

But when I head into my room to find some comfy clothes to change into, I see a glaring white envelope resting on the pillows with my name written elegantly across it.

I recognize Alistair’s handwriting immediately, and with a shaking hand, I pick it up and tear the envelope open. Unfolding the letter inside, I read,“Check your closet and get ready. You have ninety minutes.”

“No,”I groan out and flop onto the bed. So much for a relaxing night. Seems I may have to face my demons sooner than I wanted to.

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