Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Fuck," I mutter, grinding her against me because I can't help it.
"Octavio," she whimpers into my mouth, her nails digging into my shoulders through my button-down.
I press her deeper into the side of the truck, sink deeper into her heat. Everything but her disappears. My heart thumps unevenly in my chest as her tongue strokes against mine. Her eager hands run across my shoulders, pulling me closer, closer, as if she's trying to fuse our bodies together again. I love when she does that…when she wants to be as close to me as humanly possible.
Fuck, I love her. Period. Even if she isn't ready to say it back, I need her to know how I feel about her. I can't wait any longer to tell her. It's making me crazy that she doesn't know she's all I think about.
"Faith, conejita, I lo–"
A loud pop rips through the parking lot, halting my confession in its tracks. An instant later, the window beside her head explodes in a shower of glass. My heart stops beating for a second, terror ripping through me as realization dawns. Someone is shooting at us.
I drop to the ground with Faith still in my arms, shielding her body with mine.
She screams as a flurry of gunfire rings out, striking all around us. The back passenger side window shatters. Another bullet ricochets off the door, hitting the Mercedes next to us.
"Stay down!" I yell at Faith, pushing her halfway underneath the truck as I grab my gun out of its holster. I grab my phone too, tossing it to her. "Call for help, angel."
She stares at me, wide-eyed and frozen in shock.
"Faith, angel." I shake her hard, snapping her out of it. She blinks at me, her eyes filling with tears. "Call for help, little bunny, and don't get up until I say you can."
I don't have time to make sure she's doing what I told her to do. Instead, I send up a prayer that Roman, Luke, and Finn heard the shots, and then I duck walk around the side of the vehicle beside mine, staying down as whoever is shooting at us continues to unload in our direction. When I get to the far side of the Mercedes, I raise up just enough to scan the parking lot. There's a black passenger car parked in the middle of the lot, blocking the row. Whoever is shooting at us is in that vehicle.
The window is partially opened, a handgun pointed in our direction.
I take aim and fire off several rounds. The first glances off the driver's side mirror. The second shatters the partially opened window. The driver brings his arm up to shield his face as glass showers down, but I catch sight of him anyway. He's one of Tarasova's people I recognize. Victor Milonov, the one who gets off on torturing people. There's someone else in the car with him, but I can't get a good look at him. He's obscured by Milonov's bulky frame.
It doesn't really matter who he is. I'm going to fucking kill them both. I take a shot at Milonov, blocking out the sounds of people shouting and screaming from closer to the restaurant and nearby shops. I aim again, sighting him.
"Octavio!" Faith screams from behind me, sheer terror in her voice.
I spin in her direction in time to see Ivan Sedov trying to drag her away from the vehicle by her hair. He rears back and slaps her across the face so loud I hear the sharp blow from where I'm at.
I don't even hesitate as rage rips through me. I take aim and fire, hitting him in the shoulder. He grunts, losing his grip on her hair as I circle around the Mercedes toward the truck. Someone takes a shot at me from somewhere behind Sedov, barely missing me.
I hit the ground on my back, bringing my gun up. I aim at Sedov again, pure rage flowing through my veins. This is the motherfucker who tormented and abused Faith for years just because he could. This is the one she still has nightmares about, the one she's still so afraid of.
Not anymore. This motherfucker is mine now.
I fire off two more rounds. One hits him in the cheek. The other in the top of the head.
Faith screams, scrabbling backward on her hands when he pitches forward, his blood splattering all over the place. He hits the ground hard, landing partially on top of her. He doesn't move again.
I don't have time check on Faith. There are two other men still standing, not including Milonov and whoever's in the car with him. I don't recognize either of the two partially obscured by my truck, but they're both armed.
I fire again, hitting the first one in the chest. The second lifts his gun, but before he can get a shot off, a shot rings out from behind him. He jerks, the gun tumbling from his hands as blood spreads rapidly across his chest from an exit wound. He hits the ground hard, his head bouncing against the cement with an audible crack.