Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Even as he ran, he kept rubbing his neck with the sinking feeling that he knew exactly what Roach had done.
The December afternoon was turning darker, since it was too cloudy for Zane to see the sun descend toward the horizon, but he ran on, lowering his head when the snow rushing at his face became too much. Despair pulsed in his chest like a bomb about to explode, but trudging on in the piercing cold was the only way. No matter how fatigued he felt after fifteen minutes of running through the snow, he’d rather drop dead on the way than stop.
He let out a cry when the dark form of the clubhouse loomed between the trees like a skeleton dug out by hungry animals.
He couldn’t explain it. He knew Roach was there even before he spotted the motorcycle. Choking on icy breath, he reached the building despite his legs crying ‘no more’. He shouldn’t have left Roach on his own. He shouldn’t have said all those terrible things when deep down he knew Roach was fragile under the layers of ink and violence.
He should have been gentler and not asked painful questions about things Roach didn’t want to talk about. Weren’t they both alike that way?
He stopped at the entrance, afraid of what he might see inside, but the angry pulsing behind his breastbone made him move, and he climbed into the dark mouth of the man-made cave through the door that was now too high to comfortably step through.
Roach lay in the debris, a rag doll tossed off a fallen chair, a broken beam hanging above like the confirmation of Zane’s suspicions.
A raw howl tore its way out of Zane’s chest as he ran over, fell to his knees, and touched the rope strung tight around that lovely, thick neck. Tears blurred Zane’s vision as he forced the cord to loosen and tossed it away, attempting to massage the purple shade out of Roach’s face as he leaned in, desperate to hear him breathe.
Air swished in and out of Roach’s lips, but it sounded so faint Zane shed tears as he dragged Roach up, until his head rested on Zane’s chest. Where it was safe.
“Wake up. Please, wake up…”
Roach’s hands were even colder than Zane’s, but as Zane desperately held him, he sensed a pulse, the faintest breath, and it made his own heart pound in his chest faster. As long as Roach was alive, they could talk things over, make amends.
“Reed? Please. Reed.”
Reed gasped for air and clutched at his neck, as if he’d been in suspended animation and was fighting for breath only now. Zane didn’t wait. He leaned over, gently cupping Reed’s head and blew into his open lips, listening to anything that might give him a clue what to do next, because losing Reed, losing this bond he’d been so desperate to sever not long ago, would have been worse than death.
When Reed opened his eyes, those beautiful, green eyes, Zane sobbed with relief.
Chapter 27 – Roach
Nothingness hadn’t been nearly as comforting as Roach had hoped. But wasn’t he used to disappointment? The moment death had tightened its grip on his neck had felt like stabbing Zane in the chest, and when their eyes met in his mind, Roach knew he couldn’t go through with it. No matter how greedy he was for Zane, how much he’d suffer without him, Roach couldn’t drag Zane down with him.
He could remember yanking on the rope as the noose tightened around his neck, but then darkness had won. He’d caught his breath, lost it again, holding onto the rope as if it was Zane’s hand held out to him at a stormy sea. He’d wiggled and writhed, desperate to stay alive for Zane.
Something cracked, he was in pain, then nothing.
He’d lost.
So why was he aching? What were the soft lips breathing life into him?
“Wake up. Reed. Reed, wake up!”
Something cold and damp stuck to his cheek. It smelled of sandalwood and lemon peel, dried spices soaked into lush hair that provided him so much comfort.
He opened his eyes, but had no idea why Zane was there. His neck hurt, as did his hip and shin. Reality was on a crash course for a collision with him. The half-burned beam he’d attached his rope to, had broken and given him one more chance at life. He was a cockroach after all.
He managed to save Zane. “Wh—” Roach coughed through his tight, aching throat. “Why are you… here?”
Zane sobbed, his handsome features twisting into an ugly scowl that was somehow still endearing. His hands—cold as if he’d been playing with snow—petted Roach’s face over and over, pressing him to the cradle of Zane’s chest.
Tears dropped on Roach’s cheeks, as fragrant as the damp hair that pulled him back to reality.