Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 199879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 999(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 999(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
“Hmm, as tempting as that is, that’s not happening.”
Haidyn runs a hand down his bloody face. “Then you can go fuck yourself.”
The man laughs once more before he holds out his right hand, and a loud noise has me covering my ears. I blink to see Haidyn standing in front of us, and the next moment, he’s lying on the ground, face down.
I start kicking and screaming. My throat’s on fire as I don’t even recognize my own voice. “Get him in the van,” the man orders, dragging me across the broken glass and metal that covers the road.
“HAIDYN!” I scream, watching two men pick him up.
I’m thrown into the back of the black cargo van, and I go to jump out, but my hair is grabbed once more, and I’m shoved down onto my stomach. A shoe digs into my back as the side of my face is smashed into the floor that smells like vomit and piss. I’m kicking and screaming the best I can as my arms are grabbed and brought behind my back. Something wraps them, securing them tightly. Then I’m hauled to my feet and shoved onto a bench.
I watch as two men toss Haidyn inside, and he lands on his back. He’s been shot. His button-up is soaked in blood, and I fall to my knees next to him as the doors are closed.
“Haidyn?” I cry, fresh tears clouding my vision. “Help him.” I fight whatever they tied my wrists with, knowing I need to apply pressure to his wound, or he’ll bleed out.
“If he dies, he dies.” Someone chuckles.
I raise my head to look up at a man sitting on the opposite bench. He’s got a black mask on and a leather jacket with matching gloves. Who are these men? “Saint and Kashton are going to kill you for this,” I spit out. Me? No one gives a fuck about me. But Haidyn? He’s a Spade brother. A Lord. And no one goes after a Lord.
He slaps me across the face so hard it knocks me over. My body lands across Haidyn’s. Laughter fills my ears as pain explodes behind my eyes. “You should worry about yourself, bitch. We’ve got plans for you, and you’re not going to like any of them.” More laughter.
A hand gently touches my hair, and I expect it to yank me to my feet. But when it doesn’t, I look up through watery lashes to see it’s Haidyn’s. He’s weak, but his eyes are open. I watch his chest rise and fall slowly, and I sniff. “I’m sorry, baby girl,” he whispers.
I begin to cry harder, my shoulders shaking as my nose runs. I’m still having trouble breathing, and my chest aches.
“Shut her up,” a man calls out.
I’m yanked from Haidyn and forced to sit on the bench, and I watch his hand fall to his side as his eyes close.
“Open wide, bitch!” A man laughs before something is shoved into my mouth, not even giving me the chance to fight.
SAINT
Kashton and I are two hours into our flight. I’m sitting on the couch, answering emails on my laptop while Kashton watches porn on his without earphones. The woman fake moaning while the sound of the guy’s dick fucking her sloppy wet pussy fills the private jet. Prick. Like I want to listen to that shit right now. I’m fighting with Ashtyn; therefore I haven’t fucked her since we returned from New York. But what’s new? Story of my life.
An email notification pops up on the screen, and I choose to ignore it while I finish typing out what I was in the middle of. Once done, I open it up.
Sweetheart.
“What the fuck is this shit?” I bark out, getting Kashton’s attention.
“What?” he shuts his laptop.
“Not sure.” I grab the remote off the table and turn on the flat screen that hangs on the wall. I pull up my email and go to the most recent one, pressing play.
A humming sound fills our private jet from the speakers that hang above us as a large concrete room comes onto the screen. The lights buzz, and boots slapping on the floor echo.
“That’s Carnage,” Kashton states, getting to his feet.
The camera is placed on what looks to be a counter. It shows a metal table in the middle of the room. It’s got strategically placed medical restraints—black and white leather belts around it—from one side to the other—to strap something down. Or more like someone. I know because we’ve used it before. On people we’ve tortured. On Ashtyn.
The door on the opposite side of the room squeaks open. The noise is so loud it hurts my ears. A man enters the space. He’s dressed in all black. Combat boots and cargo pants with a chain linking his belt loop to a back pocket. He’s got a gun strapped to his thigh. Looks to be a .45 in a holster. A long-sleeve T-shirt with a vest over his chest and back. It reminds me of a bulletproof vest that a SWAT member would wear. But it doesn’t say that. He’s got a mask on that covers his face.