Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
“You good?” I don’t miss the worry lines between his brows, but there’s something more there.
Pride.
We’ve killed people before. Many times. Most of them personally, enemies of ours. I don’t take a life lightly, it’s always personal. If you’ve touched, tried to claim, or threatened what’s mine, I’d put a bullet between your eyes faster than your neurons can signal your next thought process. But this is different. The weight of emotion hardens on my shoulders the more time passes.
This kill wasn’t senseless.
It wasn’t because of some dumb shit our enemies had done, or wandered into in the middle of a game that no one should know about.
This was personal. Not because they touched what’s mine, but because they fucking touched her. The weight of her torment is heavy, but I’ll fucking carry it for the rest of my life if it means that she never has to.
Dad ruffles my hair playfully, but I can’t find it in me to smile. I don’t feel fucking proud. I don’t even feel good. Because this doesn’t take away the fact that they did this to her. They hurt her.
My jaw tenses as I feel that same anger temper down my arms and fizzle through my fingertips. This isn’t good. I need to collect myself.
Before I can conjure up a plan, Hector pulls me in by the back of my neck until my forehead rests against his. “Proud of you, son. You took care of family. You did what needed to be done.” I did everything but what mattered. Protect her at the time.
My chest swells and my skin dampens from the beads of sweat, but I nod, before dipping out from beneath him without being obvious. I don’t want anyone, much less her, to see how fucked up I am. This is a weakness. I hate hard, fuck hard, love hard, but rage? Pain? I feel that shit just as hard.
Champagne corks pop off in the background and the backs of my eyes turn hot. Every second that I’m here, I feel the penetration of those parting words sink further and further into my flesh. It’s only a matter of time before they get all the way in. Then I’ll detonate.
I can’t stay.
I fucking need to. For her. I can do it for her. But she deserves softness when it comes to this. Halen is both leather and velvet, and I’m a fucking craftsman when it comes to her. I’ve not only seen every inch that there is to see of her, felt every fucking scar and wound, but I’ve existed within her. We are one. We always have been and always will be. But for right now, I know that this is something she doesn’t need to see. She doesn’t need to see that I am slowly being consumed by my own guilt. She doesn’t need to witness my penitence shrivel and die at my feet on a night that should be celebrated by her.
I hate myself for feeling this way.
Right now, she needs peace. Not war.
My body turns to leave, when the laughter of the group near the bonfire stops me. They all blur together, and I rub my eyes with the base of my palm.
As soon as my vision clears, I catch Stella snapping selfies with the leftover corpses still in their resting positions. Her leg lifts against the side of the one with the stick, as she grabs at one of her tits with her free hand, resting her tongue against its jaw. Snap. Snap. Snap.
River shakes her head at Stella but doesn’t stop her, as Vaden’s heavy footsteps land in front of his sister. I can hear him going on about evidence and using her head for something other than sex and murder for once. Her response is hostile, throwing back in his face how not everyone can be the perfect child, and that it’s a Polaroid so no one else will see. Her arm swings over to Priest, who meets her with a raised brow, either in challenge or pride, before yapping about adding the photos onto the wall with Priest’s victims.
There’s a reason why Stella and Priest are never allowed around each other alone. This is a prime example.
For once, not even my family’s antics are enough to pull myself out of the emotional sludge I’ve found myself in, and I can feel myself sinking deeper and deeper.
My feet carry me back through the way I came, while ignoring everyone in sight, when I bang into a little five-foot-something body.
I catch her by the waist with a steady hand, and the ground tilts beneath us.
She’s safe. She’s here. Mine.
Both of our eyes slide to where I’ve caught her. With one hand on her waist, and the other on her upper arm. When I release her arm from my grip, blood stains her cardigan like a cruel reminder.