Page 12 of Range
Or Rugger.
Or Rome.
Or Royce.
Priest. Psalms. Saint. Ishmael.
They were perfectly paired with men who would burn down the entire city to defend their honor.
My eyes wandered toward the mirror. My reflection gazed back at me. Kason’s face darted around in my brain. And a question I hadn’t asked myself before came at me like daggers.
Would he do the same for me?
My hand fell onto the large Chanel box, startling me from my thoughts. I exhaled slowly and flipped the lid. Inside was a beautiful caviar briefcase.
I removed it from the dust bag and held it up in front of me. She was such a beauty.
Stunning.
Classic.
Sophisticated.
And the perfect dimensions.
While I didn’t have the answer to the first question I’d posed, I knew the answer to the next one.
Is this man trying to get me on my knees tonight?
Garage door open.
Dressed in the contents from my duffel, I stepped into my home with my new briefcase in my hand. My shoes tumbled to the ground, landing sideways. The new frames slid from my face with ease. I placed them on the counter and barged through my home in pursuit of my study.
Double doors greeted me, sliding backward to welcome me inside. Endless shelves filled with law material, books, and studies lined the walls. A round, black table created to seat six was in the middle of the floor. To the left of it was a printing center. To the right of it was a reading nook. Just above it was a beautiful chandelier. On top of it was fresh roses and two beige candles.
Mail spilled inside from the system I’d created. It fed mail from my mailbox through an underground fixture that released it into my home. It was dispensed in a small tray right next to my print center.
Visitors weren’t allowed on my property. Not unless I’d invited them personally. However, I hadn’t invited a single being since I moved into the six-bedroom dream home. The people who’d visited had forced their way through my gates, shamelessly. They all shared the same blood as me. So, in many ways, my home wasourhome. They were all welcome. They were always welcome.
“Nothing. Nothing. Nothing,” I rattled off, tossing the solicitation mail in the shredder one piece at a time.
I wasn’t stunned to discover there was nothing of interest to me in the pile. It hardly ever was. Still, it was a habit of mine. My way of pausing the clock. Forcing time to stand still. Taking slow,unrushed strides toward nothing. A moment that reminded me not every second required progression.
As soon as my hands were free, my fingers landed on the keyboard of my desktop. Physical mail didn’t materialize anything of interest, but my emails always promised a great time. They often led to conflict, which drew me in quicker than the opening line of a suspense novel.
Good. Good.
Delete.
Mr. Roberts? What are we requesting today, Mr. Roberts? Do you have any good news for me?
I opened the email, hoping to discover new information about his upcoming hearing.
Ms. Childers,
It’s Danielle, the sister of Daniel Roberts. I’m emailing you because I wanted to be the first to inform you that Daniel was found unresponsive in his cell this morning. He suffered from a stroke. They rushed him to the emergency room and the doctors have done all they can for him.
But, our family has decided to pull the plug that’s holding Daniel here on earth, though his soul has already exited his body. Thank you for the hard work you put into getting justice for Daniel. We were all hopeful. So was he. Sometimes things just have a different ending than we expect.
