Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Ouch.
Milo walks over to the other man and uppercuts him straight into his jaw, knocking him backward to the ground.
“Next time, I won’t be so polite,” Milo tells the men.
He rushes toward me, and when he reaches me, his hand slides into mine. We hear sirens and start moving. Fast. We hurry past my apartment, and I don’t even ask why. I know why because they can still see us. We do a slow lap around the block, and when we come back around, the men are gone. Stepping inside, I shut the door and lock it after him. When I turn around to face Milo,
I see blood dripping on the floor.
And that’s when I scream, “Mason!”
Chapter 40
Milo
“Forever ruined by her touch, even if I am dying.”
The worry etched on her face hurts me more than the knife wound in my stomach.
She rips at my shirt, lifting it up, trying to undress me to see where the blood is coming from.
“I could get used to this.” I grin down at her.
Lissie looks up at me with those stunning eyes and narrows them. “This is not something to joke about. You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve been stabbed before. Fuck, I’ve even been shot, Pretty Lady. Yet, here I am, still standing,” I say as she points to the couch. “I’ll ruin your couch,” I tell her. She shakes her head, and I move to her kitchen instead and sit on one of the stools.
I watch as she and Letti try to find the first aid kit.
That’s when there’s a knock on her door. We all freeze, and Mason walks out of the bathroom with a wet cloth and glances at the door. I pull my shirt down as Mason walks over and pulls it open. Before Elizabeth has a chance to go see who it is, I grab her wrist and pull her back. She looks at me with shocked eyes but nods her head as if she gets my meaning. She will not get hurt. Even though I’m certain they didn’t follow us, there is no fucking way she will get hurt while I’m alive.
“Umm, who are you?” a man asks.
At the sound of his voice, Elizabeth pulls her hand free, goes straight to the door, and pushes it open farther, revealing two people on the side.
I stand and move so I’m directly behind her.
Two sets of eyes find mine, both the same color as hers.
The guy, dressed in jeans and a white shirt, raises a brow.
“Is this your boyfriend?” the girl asks, pointing at me with a smile.
“No, this is Milo. He’s a friend from my hometown—”
“Yes, I’m her boyfriend,” I state, interrupting her as I stare down the guy. I feel her eyes on me. So I turn and see her gaze narrowed at me and her lips pressed in a thin line, clearly in a shitty mood.
“Milo, this is my sister and brother.” Oh.
“Rebecca and Jackson.” She points to each of them. “This is Milo Savage,” Elizabeth says to them. “And our friends who answered the door are Letti and Mason.”
“Like the Milo Savage?” Jackson says, taking me in with a new gleam in his eyes.
He’s young, but I see the brand on his shirt, which clearly states his love for bikes.
“Yes,” I reply, wrapping my arm around Elizabeth’s hip.
“I was the one who did your rear fender,” Jackson says. I raise a brow at him, impressed. I had the drawings on my rear fender custom made. “I own my bike shop,” he adds.
“Nice. Who knew Elizabeth here had a brother as clever as her.” She rolls her eyes at me, then looks back to her family.
“Elizabeth? Why does he call you that? You said no one does,” Rebecca chimes in.
“He refuses to call me Lissie.” She smiles. “I don’t want to be rude, as I love seeing you both, but we were in the middle of something. I would love to invite you in, but maybe you can come back tomorrow?”
“They can come in while you patch me up,” I tell her and turn back to the kitchen.
“Patch him up?” Jackson asks and walks past Elizabeth. He’s taller than her small frame, which isn’t hard to beat. Rebecca is even slightly taller than her.
“Yep, got stabbed.” I sit back down as Letti hands me a bandage and offers a hello to both of them.
“I took a bit of nursing in school. I can help. I mean, if you’re okay with that?”
Rebecca offers, looking at her sister.
“I think he needs stitches,” Elizabeth says, biting her bottom lip.
“I don’t,” I inform her. “It isn’t deep enough.”
“Can I look? I stitched a few people up, so I may be able to help.” I lift my shirt as Rebecca examines the wound. “I reckon you could get away with a few butterfly stitches,” she says, rummaging through the first aid kit.