Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“Oh, hehe,” Max murmurs, blushing. “Hi to you too.”
“Wait, I didn’t know you could shoot,” Ivy says, eyeing the gun.
“Mom made all of us learn how,” he explains. “I prefer not being seen by the people I kill, though. Unlike them.” He nods at me and Heath.
But I can’t stop glaring at Ivy, wondering how much longer she’s going to hug him and shower him with affection when I’m the one who saved her ass.
And I guess I’m not the only one, judging by Heath’s stare.
She finally takes her hands off Max and blushes hard.
I clear my throat. “So. We all just casually decided to follow her?”
“I guess so.” Heath shrugs.
“I followed him,” Max says, briefly glancing at Heath, who doesn’t even look at him. “But I knew we were all going to go find her.”
What’s up with those two?
Max hops off his motorcycle and grabs her hand. “Are you okay?”
God-fucking-dammit, the way she looks at him makes me antsy for my knife.
She nods. “A little bruised and beaten up … but I’m alive.”
The way she smiles back when he smiles at her, fuck, it makes me want to gouge out more eyes.
What is wrong with me?
“We gotta do something about these bodies, though,” Heath says, approaching too.
“After we get her to safety,” I say, and I grab her arm to drag her away from the scene of the crime. “C’mon.”
She tears herself away from me. “No. I’m not leaving here without my stuff and—”
She chokes on her words like she’s afraid she’ll say something she shouldn’t.
My eyes narrow. “And what?”
A blush forms on her cheeks while Max and Heath seem amused.
“Oh …” Heath mutters.
“What? What am I missing?” I growl. “We don’t have time for games here. Whatever. We’ll come back later for your clothes.” I grasp her wrist again. “Let’s go.”
“No,” she growls, jerking free. Before I can grasp her again, she’s already bolted off toward the building on the other end of the street where she parked her bike.
“Why didn’t you stop her?” I growl at Heath.
“Trust me when I say there’s nothing that would stop her from going up there,” he replies.
“Heath …” Max mutters.
But Heath refuses to look him in the eyes.
“I’m going with her,” Max says.
“Fine, then I’m coming too,” Heath growls back, removing his mask.
“Okay, don’t fucking wait on me,” I retort as we all follow her into the building. It’s grimy and completely worn down, with stairs that are barely kept together by broken wood and rusty metal. Everywhere I look, there are stains—on the walls, the floor, even the fucking ceiling—along with a ton of cobwebs and dust.
But by the time we get to her floor and see her struggling to even put the key into the lock, I pause.
This place … is her home?
I look around at all the dust and grime. Why would she live here out of all fucking places? Is this why she needs that money so badly, to move out of here? There’s no way anyone would break into a goddamn vault at the Phantom Society house, filled with fuckers who would kill you on sight if they’d only do it for the fun of it.
She finally manages to unlock the door but keeps it closed, breathing out loud like she’s preparing for something.
What is going on?
“C’mon, open the door. We don’t have time. There could be more of them coming out of the fucking woodwork any time now.”
Max places a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t feel rushed.”
“You’re one to talk. You weren’t even here in time. I was,” I growl back.
Max ignores me. “You can trust us.”
With what?!
She pushes the door open and steps inside with Max, but Heath stays put in the doorway, his stance uncomfortable, muscles clenched.
I push him aside to see what she’s been hiding, only to come to an abrupt halt in the door opening while I clutch the frame as a little girl merely the size of my legs sits on the couch in the living room.
And I have never, ever been so fucking dazed as I am now.
This is what she was hiding?
A child?
I can’t stop staring at the little girl who’s sucking her thumb as she stares us up and down as if she’s judging the weight of our value with her eyes alone. And for some reason, I feel like the entire floor has just caved in underneath me, which is an unfamiliar feeling to me. This body was made to kill, and it doesn’t fucking respond to any of my commands. That’s what scares the living shit out of me.
I take a good look around the apartment. It’s a shoddy mess, with patches of paint coming off the walls, a dirty carpet, and too many stains on the wall. This can’t be fucking healthy. Especially for a child.