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)
“Stop,” Saint barks, pulling the man off me. I take a step back from the wall, sucking in a deep breath. “You don’t have to be so rough with her. She didn’t do anything wrong,” he defends me. That’s one thing about Saint, he’s always got my back. That’s what makes this decision so hard.
The guard pushes Saint’s hand away. “This is your fault.” He points a finger in Saint’s face. “You allow her too much freedom.”
What? Why would he say that? Saint has no control over what I’m allowed to do. Freedom? No one here at Carnage has freedom. Not unless you’re a Spade brother. But even they are called to serve the Lords. They wear the brand on their chest, so they must pay their dues.
Saint, Kashton, and Haidyn are a product of Carnage. One day, the next generation of Spade brothers will take over this hell, and I can’t be here when that happens. The truth is, I’ll be dead before they even get the chance. That’s why I have to get out now. The only person who can save me and the baby is myself.
I can’t hold back the whimper that escapes my shaking lips, and the guard’s eyes slam to me. He reaches up, pushing the button on his radio, and speaks into it. “Bring the jacket.”
My chest squeezes. Please, no. I can’t let them put me in that. They could leave me for days. Forget about me. I’ve seen others pee and shit all over themselves when in that. Not to mention starve. When Saint and Haidyn strapped me in it, it was only for about an hour, and the time I was awake to experience it was torture.
My watery eyes shoot to Saint, and his sharp jaw flexes at the guard’s order, knowing exactly what it means. “That’s not necessary,” he snaps.
“Shut the fuck up, boy. I don’t take orders from you.” The guard dismisses Saint.
“You’re not fucking putting her in it!” Saint informs him.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to the whore.”
While they argue, I decide this is my best chance. I push to my feet and start to run. The back of my hair is pulled, pin pricks like a thousand needles penetrate my scalp, and I’m yanked up off my feet before I’m slammed down onto the floor on my back. My breath is taken from me, and dots dance across my vision. I roll onto my side, hugging my stomach, coughing as pain explodes behind my eyes and runs down the back of my neck along my spine. My fingers and toes start to tingle from the blow.
“Don’t fucking touch her,” Saint shouts, followed by the two of them struggling.
As I get to my hands and knees, a loud bang rings through the hallway, momentarily deafening me. My hands cover my ears to subside the ringing, but it doesn’t work.
Looking up, I see the guard fall to his knees and then flat on his face. The sound of the ringing in my ears intensifies as I watch Saint lower the gun that he must have taken from the guard. He tucks it into the back of his waistband of his jeans, glaring down at the dead guard.
I jump to my shaking legs and slide my back against the wall to get around the pool of blood that grows under the guy. I have enough blood on me already.
“Saint,” I breathe, running up behind him.
“Let’s go.” He grabs my arm and drags me down the hall back in the direction I came from. I can’t do it. I won’t go back. I’m too close.
Yanking his T-shirt up, I grip the handle of the gun tucked into the back of his jeans and pull it out. We both come to a stop, and time slows as I press it into his back, knowing there’s no going back after this.
He stiffens, the thin material of his T-shirt straining against his taut muscles, hands down by his side. Slowly, he turns around to face me. His eyes narrow when he stares down the barrel. “Jesus Christ, Ash. You really have lost your goddamn mind.” He sighs, and his eyes soften with empathy as if I’m that pathetic that he actually feels sorry for me.
I am, but I refuse to become my mother. I will do anything and everything I can for my child. I will put them first and make sure they have a safe and healthy place to grow up. If I don’t break the cycle, then who will?
Tears run down my face while the gun shakes in my hands, but my legs are spread wide, anchored to the floor as if I’m a ship bracing for a storm.
Lifting his arms out to his side, he takes a step toward me, the gun now pressing into his chest, and I take a stumbling step back.