Read Online Slip of Fate (Werelock Evolution Book 1) by Hettie Ivers - Free Book Online
Authors: Hettie Ivers
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begin flipping through my memories at whirlwind speed.
“No,” I cried out. “Stop! Please don’t!”
He paid me no heed, though, as he rifled through the events of the past several hours, at first focusing in on my interactions with Remy and Alcaeus with rapt interest and then moving on to my private moments of personal hell at the hands of Felix.
He was going so fast it was overwhelming for both my brain and my psyche, as the memories were linked to an intricate myriad of emotional responses that flared to the surface and stung me like little live wires as he trampled through my memory bank. I burned with shame all over again at the recollection of Felix’s hands on me, and I cried in desperation and fear as Alex paused upon my memories in the van.
I was sobbing and begging for him to stop long before he honed in on my memories of Raul. I heard Remy and Alcaeus pleading with him on my behalf as well. But he only snapped at them to back off and warned me to stop wailing and behave. So I bit my tongue and tried to will myself to lose consciousness just to gain some measure of reprieve.
Though I wasn’t privy to his thoughts or reactions to my memories other than the occasional grunt or snarl as he rummaged through them, I felt like the profoundest of idiots as he sifted through the recent memories of how I’d come to search for Raul in São Paulo. Remembering all the inquiries I’d made during the past seven months, all the dead-end emails and calls I’d placed to every old contact number and email address I’d ever had for Raul and then all the ones I’d gotten through the private investigative services I’d paid for.
It wasn’t as if I cared what he thought of me, but seeing him pinpoint and tie together with ease the obvious red flags in all of my seemingly breakthrough interactions with Raul’s alleged landlady and her daughter—it made me realize how my imminent demise could’ve been avoided had I not been so desperate, and perhaps, had I possessed a shred of common sense. If only I’d given up and not nagged my mother’s estate attorney until he’d agreed to put me in touch with a P.I. connection he had in Brazil.
No sooner had I thought it that I realized what a blunder I’d made. But it was too late. Whether he’d overheard it or simply sensed my panicked reaction, he latched onto the memory I’d unconsciously conjured up of the attorney who’d been appointed executor of my mother’s last will and testament and began callously, methodically pulling thread after thread of memories surrounding my mother’s passing before I could utter a protest.
It wasn’t right.
It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t as if it mattered that he now knew I had no family left to miss me, as I was sure knowing that someone back in the States might come searching for me wouldn’t have dissuaded him from killing me anyhow. But it was the worst sort of invasion, as these were among some of my most private, most painful memories and life moments he was flipping through as if he were surfing cable stations.
Anger surged through me like a rocket. These were the treasured, final memories of my mother as she lost her all-too-brief, four-month battle with cancer while I tried in vain to get in touch with Raul, juggle bills, and navigate insurance bureaucracies all on my own. These were horrific, desolate moments, and yet some of the most poignantly beautiful ones I possessed.
And they were mine.
This asshole in my head had no right to access them. I no longer cared what he could do to me or how much it would hurt; I harnessed all of my hatred and outrage and pushed back with a vengeance.
Pain knifed through my head in all directions as before, only this time I welcomed it, as it was accompanied by surprised, choice curse words and irritated orders from Alex for me to desist.
Fuck him!
I fought harder and somehow managed to slow down his intrusive search through my memory cache. It came with the price of
“No,” I cried out. “Stop! Please don’t!”
He paid me no heed, though, as he rifled through the events of the past several hours, at first focusing in on my interactions with Remy and Alcaeus with rapt interest and then moving on to my private moments of personal hell at the hands of Felix.
He was going so fast it was overwhelming for both my brain and my psyche, as the memories were linked to an intricate myriad of emotional responses that flared to the surface and stung me like little live wires as he trampled through my memory bank. I burned with shame all over again at the recollection of Felix’s hands on me, and I cried in desperation and fear as Alex paused upon my memories in the van.
I was sobbing and begging for him to stop long before he honed in on my memories of Raul. I heard Remy and Alcaeus pleading with him on my behalf as well. But he only snapped at them to back off and warned me to stop wailing and behave. So I bit my tongue and tried to will myself to lose consciousness just to gain some measure of reprieve.
Though I wasn’t privy to his thoughts or reactions to my memories other than the occasional grunt or snarl as he rummaged through them, I felt like the profoundest of idiots as he sifted through the recent memories of how I’d come to search for Raul in São Paulo. Remembering all the inquiries I’d made during the past seven months, all the dead-end emails and calls I’d placed to every old contact number and email address I’d ever had for Raul and then all the ones I’d gotten through the private investigative services I’d paid for.
It wasn’t as if I cared what he thought of me, but seeing him pinpoint and tie together with ease the obvious red flags in all of my seemingly breakthrough interactions with Raul’s alleged landlady and her daughter—it made me realize how my imminent demise could’ve been avoided had I not been so desperate, and perhaps, had I possessed a shred of common sense. If only I’d given up and not nagged my mother’s estate attorney until he’d agreed to put me in touch with a P.I. connection he had in Brazil.
No sooner had I thought it that I realized what a blunder I’d made. But it was too late. Whether he’d overheard it or simply sensed my panicked reaction, he latched onto the memory I’d unconsciously conjured up of the attorney who’d been appointed executor of my mother’s last will and testament and began callously, methodically pulling thread after thread of memories surrounding my mother’s passing before I could utter a protest.
It wasn’t right.
It wasn’t fair!
It wasn’t as if it mattered that he now knew I had no family left to miss me, as I was sure knowing that someone back in the States might come searching for me wouldn’t have dissuaded him from killing me anyhow. But it was the worst sort of invasion, as these were among some of my most private, most painful memories and life moments he was flipping through as if he were surfing cable stations.
Anger surged through me like a rocket. These were the treasured, final memories of my mother as she lost her all-too-brief, four-month battle with cancer while I tried in vain to get in touch with Raul, juggle bills, and navigate insurance bureaucracies all on my own. These were horrific, desolate moments, and yet some of the most poignantly beautiful ones I possessed.
And they were mine.
This asshole in my head had no right to access them. I no longer cared what he could do to me or how much it would hurt; I harnessed all of my hatred and outrage and pushed back with a vengeance.
Pain knifed through my head in all directions as before, only this time I welcomed it, as it was accompanied by surprised, choice curse words and irritated orders from Alex for me to desist.
Fuck him!
I fought harder and somehow managed to slow down his intrusive search through my memory cache. It came with the price of