Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
I run until my lungs burn and my muscles feel like lead, until sweat runs down my face in rivulets. When my legs threaten to give out, I turn back and run up the mountain, pushing myself past the point of exhaustion, past the limitations of my body and the memories encroaching on my mind. I run until I can’t think about anything, much less picture the heart-shaped pendant on Chloe’s chest.
Finally, I stop and walk the rest of the way, letting myself cool down. By the time I enter the dark, silent house, my breathing has calmed and my legs are starting to feel like they’re attached to me. Toeing off my dirty shoes, I lock the front door and make my way up the stairs, the weight of sleep deprivation descending on me like a layer of bricks. I can’t wait to fall into my bed and—
A choked cry stops me short.
I freeze on top of the stairs, all my senses on high alert as I scan the dark hallway.
A moment later, I hear it again.
A muffled scream, coming from Chloe’s room.
Adrenaline blasts through my body. I don’t stop to think, I just act. Soundlessly, I pad down the hallway, every muscle in my body coiled for battle. If someone’s broken in, if they’re hurting her… The mere thought of it paints my vision red. Only a lifetime of training keeps me from kicking down the door and rushing in. Instead, I stop three feet from her bedroom and press my palm against the wall, feeling for a tiny ridge. When I find it, I push in, and with a quiet whoosh, a small square of the wall slides away, revealing one of the mini arsenals I’ve hidden throughout the house.
Moving silently, I reach into the niche and grab a loaded Glock 17, then approach Chloe’s door.
All is quiet again, but I don’t let it fool me.
Something isn’t right. I know it. I feel it.
Clicking off the safety with my right thumb, I carefully twist the knob with my left hand and open the door a crack.
Another cry rings out, followed by a choked sob.
Fuck it.
I push the door wide open and charge inside, prepared to do battle.
Only no one attacks me.
There are no flying bullets, no movement of any sort.
The faint moonlight reveals no one in the dark bedroom besides me and a small bundle underneath the covers on the bed—a bundle that jerks suddenly, emitting another one of those muffled cries.
Of course.
I lower the gun, the worst of the tension draining from my muscles. This must be what Alina heard last night. No wonder Chloe looked so uncomfortable when my sister brought up the topic.
She has nightmares. Bad ones.
I should leave now that I know she’s safe, but I remain rooted in place, staring at that bundle of covers as my heartbeat takes on a hard, thumping rhythm. She’s here, sleeping only a couple of meters away. The adrenaline in my veins transforms into a sharp, hot need, a hunger so fierce and potent I shake from the effort of containing it. I want to feel her smooth, warm skin under my fingers, smell her crisp, sweet wildflower scent… sink deep into her tight, wet heat… My pulse roars in my ears, my body so hard it hurts, and my legs move against my will, carrying me forward.
No. Fuck, no.
I stop half a meter from the bed, jaw clenched.
Move the fuck back. Now.
By some miracle, my feet obey.
One step.
Another.
A third.
I’m halfway to the door when the bundle on the bed jerks again and begins thrashing wildly, filling the air with raw, heartrending cries.
21
Chloe
“No!”
My feet slip in the blood as I lunge forward, dropping to my knees over Mom’s body. Her beautiful, expressive face is slack, her soft brown eyes glazed and unseeing. Her pink robe, my Christmas gift from last year, gapes open at the top, revealing her left breast, and her right arm is flung out to the side, blood from the deep vertical gash in her forearm pooling on the clean white tiles, seeping into the immaculately maintained grout. Her left arm is pressed against her side, but there’s blood there too. So much blood…
“Mom!” I press my icy fingers to her neck. I can’t feel a pulse, or maybe I just don’t know where to find it. Because there’s a pulse. There’s got to be. She wouldn’t do this. Not now. Not again. I’m simultaneously frantic and numb, my thoughts hurtling along at lightning speed even as I kneel there, stiff and frozen. Blood. So much blood on the kitchen floor. My head jerks up on autopilot, my eyes searching for a roll of paper towels on the counter. Mom will be so upset about the stains on the grout. I need to clean this up, need to—