Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“What? No!”
“Don’t lie to me!” he bellows, sending me farther back in my seat, shocked.
Even at his grumpiest, his cruelest moments, he has never looked at me like he’s looking at me now. As if he despises me.
“I’m not a mole, Brad.” I shuffle across the seat to get out and get precisely nowhere.
Brad dives over the table and holds me in place. “Stay where the fuck you are.”
I blink, stunned, faced with a very different man to the soft, gentle, patient guy I’ve encountered recently. His fleeting look of shame doesn’t lessen my hurt.
“Was it him who sent the guy looking for you at the club?” he asks.
I don’t say anything, because nothing I say will change anything. “Just let me go,” I beg. “He doesn’t want you or Danny or James. He only wants me.”
Brad blinks, a million questions staring back at me. “What the fuck aren’t you telling me?” he asks. I swallow, looking away. “Pearl, answer me.”
I don’t answer him. I never want to share that part of my life. Truly, I would rather die, so whether he shoots me or not is of no consequence to me. If Brad knows, he will without question cut his losses and send me back.
“God damn it, talk! What the fuck were you doing with King?”
“Let me leave,” I whisper.
“Pearl, fucking look at me.” He reaches across the table and grabs my jaw, yanking my face toward his. I hold my tears back and bite my tongue. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispers as I stare at him, empty. Disconnecting. I have no choice.
“Excuse me, sir,” a man says quietly, as if making a point of Brad’s noise level.
“What?” Brad slides his gun off the table and aims. The poor man backs up, hands up, and falls back to his seat a few rows down before scrambling up and dashing off to the next carriage. “God help me, Pearl.”
“Let me go,” I whisper.
“No.”
“Yes,” I croak. “I—” My mobile rings on the table and my eyes drop to the screen. A private number.
“Answer it.” Brad stares at me. I shake my head, and Brad growls, snatching it up and accepting the call, switching to loudspeaker, remaining silent.
“Hello, pumpkin.” The voice sends shivers down my spine, has me closing my eyes and swallowing. I can’t stop my shakes. And when I open my eyes, Brad is watching my silent meltdown.
He cuts the call. “King?”
I just stare at him, the chain of events about to unfold truly terrifying me.
“Talk to me!” Brad’s expression goes from angry to psycho in a heartbeat. He stands and moves to the aisle, yanking my bag off the shelf above.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he grabs my hand and pulls me out. “Brad, stop, just let me go.”
He doesn’t speak. Just pulls me through the carriages toward the front.
“Brad, please.”
His grip tightens.
“Brad!”
He walks on, dragging me with him, and I feel the train starting to slow down. I stagger forward, and Brad catches me in his side, holding me by the nearest doors, and the moment the train stops, he hits the button to open the door. They slide open on a hiss, he steps out, pulling me out too, and then he looks down at me.
“I’m going to kill him, Pearl, whether you tell me anything or not. Don’t make me kill you too.”
“Then kill me.” Because death is certainly better that returning to my hell. And that’s exactly what’s going to happen when Brad and the others find out the truth.
I’ll be sent back.
My calm order seems to ramp up his anger. “Maybe I fucking will.”
My time is up.
51
DANNY
* * *
Higham drops a small, clear bag on the table, and everyone leans forward to inspect the contents. “Is that a lump of hair?” Goldie asks, grimacing.
“With a bit of scalp attached,” Ringo says, pointing to the small chunk of flesh on the end of the strands.
“She wasn’t a natural blonde,” Goldie adds.
“No shit,” Ringo muses, truly blown away. “I always thought she was.”
I look up at the pair tiredly. “Are you two done?”
They both sit back, and Higham leaves. “Just let me know where the evidence will be,” he calls.
I slide the bag over to Ringo. “Make sure you don’t contaminate it and put yourself in the frame.”
“Don’t worry.” Goldie whips out a pair of rubber gloves. “I’ve got his back.”
James smiles, raising his phone to his ear. Growls, cuts the call, and dials again. “God damn it.”
“What?” I ask.
“All I ask is that she answers when I call her.” He starts bashing out a text. “Did Rose lose the ability to answer her phone when she was pregnant?”
I chuckle, leaving James to try and get hold of Beau as I dial Brad again, wandering out into the sunshine. He doesn’t answer. “Where the fuck is he?” I dump my arse on a chair and light up.