CHAPTER NINETY

“Wait, where did he get blood?” I asked myself but in a low tone. I prayed he hadn't started doing his mafia games again because he agreed to quit that as well.

I put the shirt back on and walked to the sink. I splashed water on my face, and when I was done, I walked back to the bedroom.

I glanced at Clinton, who was seated on a chair and working on his computer. He didn’t even bother to spare me a glance, as his eyes were fixed on the computer. I suspiciously scanned him as I wondered what he was hiding before I got in bed and focused on sleeping.

I tried hard to fall asleep, but it didn’t happen. I kept turning and turning, my feet were sore. Damn, I wish I didn’t run that fast. I thought, and I abruptly got up.

“I can’t sleep, my feet are sore,” I said without expecting his response.

“Alright,” he said, his face still serious. He closed the computer, came to the end of the bed, and took my feet. He started giving them a massage, and I couldn’t help but lay my head against the hea