Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
I didn’t make unnecessary scenes like that. Didn’t let emotion leech through in situations such as this. That was sloppy. That was how mistakes were made.
The door inched open, and my heartbeat slowed. My mind cleared then I entered, ready, desperate to find my woman, unharmed.
But the room was empty.
Well, not entirely.
The bed was mussed. The piece of shit headboard was scratched with marks made by what I assumed were handcuffs.
And the room smelled of her. And of blood. Peaches and old pennies.
A sickening combination.
My throat shrunk to half its size as I tightened my grip on my piece.
Joey didn’t speak, just nodded his head to the closed bathroom door I’d already spotted but had been unable to make my way toward. Frozen. I’d never been frozen with fear in my life. Not even while facing the man who put me on this path to begin with. Who abused my brother and I, had ruined countless other childhoods with his perversion.
Not then, not ever.
Until that moment.
Until I smelled Piper and blood and stared at that closed bathroom door. It was Schrödinger's Cat—a thought experiment that illustrated how a being could be in two states at once, both alive and dead. Fate was linked to a random event that may or may not occur.
Behind that door could be Piper’s brutalized, bloody corpse. Or she could be alive, waiting for me. With fire still burning in her eyes.
If I didn’t open the door, I could continue entertaining the thought that Piper was alive.
If I did open the door, she might’ve been lying dead on the cheap, cracked tile.
Standing there, I observed my greatest nightmare and singular salvation simultaneously.
I knew Joey’s eyes were on me. He was waiting for me to take the lead, and my pause was a sign of weakness. One I couldn’t afford right then.
It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, taking a step toward that door then turning the knob to potentially reveal Piper’s lifeless body.
The coppery smell of blood intensified as I turned the knob and switched on the light to the small room.
My own blood roared through my body as I took in her form, huddled on the floor, motionless, bloodied, beaten.
I paused for a second, just a second to envision the ways in which I would torture those who dared touch what was mine.
All I took was a second, though. Because I saw the gentle, slow rise and fall of her chest, and my heart continued to beat, my world continued to spin, and I had a reason to exist beyond vengeance.
My feet took me to her, and I gathered my world in my arms as tenderly as a savage like me was capable of.
But I was glad. In that moment I was glad for every bit of brutality I’d gained in my life, the skills I’d amassed which would ensure I’d avenge her to the highest possible degree.
Piper
“Petal.”
The voice was gentle.
Impossibly so.
I must’ve been dead, then. Because though I recognized that voice, there was no way the owner of it would be gentle. It wasn’t in his nature.
“Petal.”
There it was again. More of an edge to it that time. I felt a sensation on my body. Light at first then firmer.
My body throbbed as I heard a metallic click followed by instant relief from aching wrists as they were freed from the handcuffs.
Then there was a warm, hard chest. The smell of spice, earth and him.
Knox.
Panic forced me up to the surface from wherever I’d been drowning.
My eyelids were impossibly heavy, so it took every ounce of strength I had to open them.
It was Knox. I was in his arms, the watery-yellow light from the lamp in the bedroom of the motel room illuminating him. He was a shadow against that light, harsh edges etched in fury as his eyes traveled over my face.
I searched his cheekbones, his smooth jaw… No bruises. No blood. Only slightly bloodshot eyes, his inky hair more mussed than usual. He was wearing a suit, open at the throat, showing off the taut protruding veins in his neck.
“You’re alive,” I croaked.
His eyes flared at hearing my voice. “And so are you. You’re going to stay that way,” he ordered. “And every man who did this…” he stroked his finger down my tender face with an impossibly delicate touch. “They’re going to die in the most painful way possible.”
My body chilled at his words, hearing the killer lurking beneath them.
“Turn your fucking back,” he snapped at someone. I was confused as to who he could possibly be speaking to; I was still in a daze from the experience, from preparing to die, wanting to die, thinking Knox was gone yet seeing him there now.
I let him gradually move me to where he reached into a bag on the rumpled bed that assaulted me with memory, shocking me into an immovable state. That was the bed I was almost raped in. That was the bed where Stone had threatened me, where he had informed me triumphantly that Knox was dead.