Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
I guess Preston is in the middle of learning the exact same lesson, and damn it, it’s one hell of a good lesson to learn. The only difference between Sam and Preston is that we still need answers out of Preston, and so far, it’s been two days and the bastard still hasn’t broken.
It’s been a constant flood of pained groans and curses. The guys have been taking turns, and I’m not going to lie, Carver and Grayson have been volunteering their time more often than not. Don’t get me wrong, King doesn’t mind beating the shit out of Preston, but he doesn’t get off on it the way Grayson and Carver do. Cruz though, he always comes back from that little room looking like hell. He does what he has to do without complaint, but I can see how it bothers him.
The first night was the worst. Preston’s screams were so loud that it sounded as though I was in the room with him. I had King take me home and stay with me there. I avoided coming over here for most of the day yesterday, but it made me feel weak, so I came back and have been sitting in this same spot ever since.
I’ve had each of the guys come and sit with me, even Carver, though not a word was said. We just sat in an awkward silence for over an hour until Cruz came and saved me from his silent torture.
Grayson collects his phone and a set of keys off the mantelpiece above the massive fireplace, and as he goes to walk out of the room, I find myself flying to my feet. “Where are you going?” I rush out, a slight desperation in my tone as another roar of pain comes sweeping through the house from the room of horrors below the study.
Grayson stops and glances back at me, his brows pinched as he scans his dark gaze over my face. “Why?”
I glance away, my eyes dropping to the expensive tiles. “I, uhh … I just, umm …”
Fuck. Why is it so hard to ask for help?
“You want to come,” he states, not as a question but more as though he’s reading my mind.
A grimace stretches across my face and I raise my eyes to meet his stare once again, hating how easily these guys can read me. Though it wasn’t that long ago that Grayson declared that he knew me better than I knew myself. Maybe he was right. Maybe he really does.
“I mean … yeah. I’m not trying to get all up in your business or take over your afternoon. I just … need to get out of here for a bit.”
Grayson raises his chin, his eyes narrowing as though he’s trying to work out if this is even a good idea, though the way things have been going between us lately, it’s probably the worst idea I’ve ever had, but the desperation keeps me from taking it back. “I’ll be gone a while,” he grumbles, his deep voice flowing through the room.
I don’t miss the fact that he still hasn’t told me where the hell he’s going, but I don’t think I actually care. Anywhere is better than here, and if I’m completely honest with myself, the thought of being alone with Grayson is pretty damn intriguing.
“That’s fine.”
He watches me for another long, drawn-out moment before finally giving me a sharp nod. He turns to walk out of the room. “Let’s go,” he throws over his shoulder, not giving me a chance to change or do my hair. I’m just lucky that I already have my shoes on.
I scoop my phone off the coffee table and scramble after him as I hear Cruz’s soft chuckle behind me before a scoffed ‘good luck’ is grumbled under his breath.
I glance back over my shoulder and meet Cruz’s eye as I hurry out of here. “Don’t miss me while I’m gone.”
Cruz rolls his eyes, softly shaking his head. “Just do me a favor and don’t piss him off. He’s an ass when things don’t go his way, and I don’t exactly want to deal with that when he gets back.”
“Come and say that to my face, Cruz,” Grayson calls from the foyer of Carver’s home, only making Cruz’s chuckles turn into a twisted kind of snicker.
Grayson flies out the door and I quickly race after him, knowing damn well that he’ll happily leave without me. I hurry through the door and down the steps, getting there just in time to throw myself through the passenger side door of Grayson’s black Dodge Challenger.
“What is it with you guys and black cars?” I ask, pulling the door closed and getting comfortable just as Grayson hits the gas and we go soaring down the long drive.
Grayson peers across at me, his eyes narrowed and filled with a suspicious curiosity. “You don’t like my car?”