Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
He swallows nervously, but nods, taking a step back. The others do too. They've got crisp white shirts with badges, but they're not being paid enough to actually risk their lives. Not against the fucking Screaming Eagles. “I won't, Miss Hale. In fact, I think I might take the rest of the day off.”
“Good idea,” says Devil with a grin, and then we follow Summer into the Hall of Grace.
36
SUMMER
“And it's imperative that we keep Pastor Hale's vision alive. That we honor his memory and show that we truly believe in all that his life stood for. He was a paragon of faith in a time where heroes are rare and integrity even rarer. He truly—truly believed in our duty to listen, our need for forgiveness and that through generosity and charity, prosperity will also come to us and tenfold. He left us far too soon, but his legacy…”
Grayson’s up on stage, bathed in the spotlights, dressed in a suit identical to something Dad would wear. It's obvious that he's trying to make sure everyone forgets about the messiness and falls in line behind him. I don't think he sees us from up there with all the bright light in his face.
But he looks… distraught? Normally, his hair is so in place it could be plastic. Today, there are flyaways and on one side, his collar has escaped the suit, without him seeming to notice. And his voice, he’s saying the right words, but he sounds frantic. I wouldn't call him unhinged, exactly, but he's not his collected self, either.
Maybe taunting him was a good idea, after all.
Pastor Harley is on stage, off to the side and watching Grayson do his thing. If anyone should've taken over, it's him. He’s a good solid man that could actually make this a better place, rather than just a siphon for money to pay for yet another Porsche. He’s frowning at Grayson, and the crowd seems restless as well.
A buzz of hushed whispers radiates through the audience as I start making my way down the aisle towards the stage. If Pastor Hale's previously oh so obedient daughter in biker leathers isn't enough to get them going, the row of actual bikers trailing behind me definitely is.
There are guards on the inside too, guys in suits and a little more subtle than the team outside, but they seem just as uninterested in dealing with what's coming in the door. I don't blame them. You couldn't pay me enough to take on all of the Eagles at once, that's for sure.
“His legacy,” starts Grayson again, trying to speak over the buzz that fills the hall, but then he shades his eyes with his hand to see what's going on.
To see his face pale makes me smile, and not in a friendly way. I've been through way too much in the last few weeks, and I'm done with being meek. I’m not here to be friendly and go with the flow. Now I'm here for payback. Justice.
That man killed my father, even if he used me as his weapon and then framed me for it. And now I'm starting to wonder if he really did kill Vivian as well, since she was always more on my side when Dad talked about marrying me off. Has Grayson been picking us off one after one while he tried to take over Dad's church?
“You're fucking beautiful when you're angry,” murmurs Devil next to me. “But I hope you never look at me that way.”
I try to shake it off and soften my smile. To not overplay my hand before we get up there.
“Miss Hale!” Grayson says finally. His voice, amplified by the microphone, booms through the Hall. “I thought you were still—”
“In custody? Oh, no. That was all a big misunderstanding. Hasn’t anyone come to talk to you yet?” I’m very much still on the run, but he doesn’t have to know that.
Preacher chuckles quietly next to me. I was worried no one would hear me with a mic, but the whole Hall is holding its breath to listen.
Grayson wets his lips, looking past me at the long line of bikers. “Summer, honey. You’re under a lot of stress. The right thing to do would be to go somewhere to recover.” He looks around the room as he makes a show of patting his pockets. “I don't have my phone on me, but if someone could make a call…”
I'm almost by the stage. “You framed me, Grayson. Did I miss that part of your speech? How you gave me the poison that killed my father?” I have to fight the tears that suddenly press at the corners of my eyes, as the fresh trauma reopens deep inside me. I will not cry. Not here.
Not in front of him.
“Summer, we all know how erratic you've acted lately. You need help. Prayer. Therapy. And you need to face up to the consequences of your actions.” He takes a step back and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.