Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75862 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
I glare at my brother. “What else are you about to drop on me?”
He nods over my shoulder and I turn, and everything in my world stops. Koda is walking toward me with Boston-fuckin’-Rhayne beside him. I see red. Everything in my world blacks out for a moment, everything except pure, raw, hatred. That motherfucker is the reason she’s dead. He’s the reason my world turned upside down. He’s the reason I am out on this fuckin’ road alone.
A hand grasps my shoulder, Mal’s, and I hear his voice vaguely in my ear. “It wasn’t his fault, Maverick. You fuckin’ know that. You gotta put this shit behind you and blend with the club again. Only way to do that was for me to bring him and get this shit over with.”
“You. Fuckin’. Piece. Of. Shit,” I snarl, thumping my brother’s hand off my shoulder.
“Maverick,” Mal warns. “I will fuckin’ drop you if I have to.”
“Try it.”
I lunge as soon as Boston is close enough, fist flying, smashing into the middle of his face. He stumbles backward, grabbing my jacket as he goes, pulling us both onto the ground. I land on top of him and drive my fist into his face over and over. He doesn’t fight me, and that makes me angrier.
“Fight me, you motherfucker, or I’ll kill you.”
“Kill me then,” he snarls, blood pouring down his face and out of his mouth. “I won’t fight you, brother.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ brother!” I roar, driving his fist into his face again.
“It wasn’t my fault, Maverick!”
“You were supposed to protect her! You were supposed to be watchin’ her! You never should have let her outside. You fuckin’ good as killed her. I fuckin’ trusted you,” I bellow, pummeling his face over and over.
People are screaming around us, cameras are flashing, but I can’t stop. All I can see is red. Red, raw, rage. Someone grabs me by the jacket and hauls me backward. “Enough, Maverick,” Mal roars in my ear, shaking me. “Fuckin’ stop.”
I glance around, panting in broken agony, and see easily thirty people watching me. My eyes go to Boston on the ground, coughing and spitting up blood, but he doesn’t get up, he doesn’t try to fight me, he just looks me in the eye and says, “It wasn’t my fault. I’m sorry, brother. One day you’ll let me tell you what happened that day. Today clearly ain’t that day.”
My fists clench and it feels like they’re on fire when they do. My chest rises and falls, and my eyes fall on a family walking toward the chaos I just unleashed in the middle of the street. I can’t let a child see that kind of horror. So, I turn and growl out, “Stay the fuck away from me,” to my brother, and then I’m gone.
The pain in my chest feels like it’s going to cripple me.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
Now.
-13-
SCARLETT
He isn’t here.
I’ve been singing for an hour, and he isn’t here. I can see Mal and Koda, but they’re stony faced. They don’t smile, they just stand on the sidelines, watching the crowd, watching all the people, watching me. Something has happened, I can feel it deep in my bones. They’re not acting the way they were this morning, and maybe that’s because they’re on duty watching me, but I know, I just know, it’s more than that.
Maverick isn’t here.
And there’s a reason for that.
Disappointment clenches my chest, and it makes it hard to sing, but I do. I sing and I dance, not willing to let my fans down again, but deep inside my chest, there is a hard knot that I can’t seem to ease. When the show is finished, I rush off stage and try to get down to where Mal and Koda are, but I’m stopped by security. “Sorry, you can’t go back there, Miss Belle. Not until the stadium is cleared out.”
“I really need to see someone back there, you can come with me, please?” I beg, trying to step past them.
“Sorry, we can’t allow that. That’s our orders.”
Frustrated, I spin around and rush down to my dressing rooms. I need to get changed and get out of here. I need to find Maverick. Something is wrong, and with every passing second, my chest feels like it’s going to explode. I reach my dressing room, and Susan is in there. “Great show,” she says, smiling and pushing her microphone attached to the ear piece she’s wearing away.
“Do you mind if I have a minute?” I ask her. “I’m not feeling well at all.”
She looks at me, eyes narrowing. “Did you see something again?”
“No, I’m just really very nauseous. I feel so sick.”
Lie.
Big fucking lie.
But it’ll get me home quicker.
“Oh, my, well get changed and we’ll get you home.”