Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I press a hand to my chest, my heart shattering for the poor woman sitting alone. Is what Western telling me true? Were they simply ridding the world of the bad? If so, do I really have it in me to be horrified at what he has done? My mind is spinning, and I can’t seem to make it stop. Turning away, I walk off into the dark night, needing to clear my head.
It might be that he was doing the world a favor, but he still murdered someone.
Booted footsteps fall behind me, but I don’t turn. Soft rain begins falling, but I don’t stop. I keep walking, even when the rain gets heavier and my skin begins to tingle with the cold. Water dripping off the end of my nose has me swiping at my face, fighting back the tears that I’ve been hanging onto for most of the night. I can’t seem to make them stop, even when I want them to.
“Stop.”
Western’s voice is gravelly and thick, but I don’t obey his command.
“Fuck. Stop.”
Anger laces his tone.
It’s not enough to make me turn around.
“Stop!” he roars, and I flinch, closing my eyes as my feet come to a stop.
I’m soaked now, and everything inside me is shivering. Turning slowly, I look to the man behind me. He’s soaked now, too, water dripping from his thick beard. He’s beautiful, out here in the dark, soaking wet.
“You killed someone,” I say, and the moment those words leave my lips, my voice begins to shake and the tears fall. “I know it might be justified, but you still did it all the same. I have been out here, fighting for your name, wanting to believe that you’re misjudged, but tonight you showed me I was wrong.”
He steps up to me, the faint scent of leather tickling my nose.
“I killed someone,” he responds, gruffly, “but I didn’t kill them.”
My heart explodes with emotion.
I hiccup and angrily swipe the tears away.
“You shot him, Western. As if his life didn’t matter.”
“It didn’t.”
“Is that for you to decide?”
He stares at me, his eyes empty.
“Make no mistake that I will spend my life riddin’ this world of the fuckin’ scum. I was behind bars, and they were still out here doin’ the things I was accused of. I never asked you to agree with it.”
Part of me knows he’s right, but there is still that part, the bigger part, that is afraid.
“What does it matter what I think of you?” I ask, the salty tears burning my eyes.
“It doesn’t.”
Shaking my head, I turn, but he lashes out, stopping me. He swings me around until my body slams into his, and there, he locks me into place with an arm around my waist. I press my hands to his chest to push him away, but I’m not strong enough. He looks down at me with an expression that, if I didn’t know better, I would say was full of lust and need.
“Wasn’t the first, won’t be the last, but I can tell you that I would never take the life of someone good. While I’m breathin’, I’m goin’ to do everythin’ I can to take the filth out of this world.”
I want to hate him for that, but I can’t.
Not when he spent a huge part of his life behind bars for something he didn’t do.
I would want vengeance, too.
“Please let me go,” I say, inhaling a jagged breath. “I want to go home.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go.”
With that, he releases me, and we both walk back to his truck. I’m freezing, and I just want to have a hot shower and forget this entire day ever happened. I don’t have it in me to argue when he begins driving me home, leaving my car at the club. I don’t argue when we arrive and he follows me inside my apartment.
Turning to him as he closes the door behind him, I stare into the most pitiful, damaged brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and my heart races. I shouldn’t be thinking of anything else in this moment except wanting him gone, but all I can think about is how good he looks standing there, wet, his hair sticking to his forehead, little droplets of water dripping from his beard, his big jacket soaking. Slowly, his eyes never moving from mine, he shrugs his jacket off, revealing his black tee stuck to his perfectly sculpted chest.
I hold my breath.
He takes a step toward me.
A challenge almost. He’s testing the waters. Seeing if I’ll step back.
I don’t.
I keep my eyes locked on his as he takes the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, revealing that breathtaking body. I haven’t seen him without a shirt, and it takes the air clean out of my lungs. Hard rigid lines of muscle bound under smooth, inked skin. Every single inch of his flesh is covered with marks, marks from a tattoo gun, marks that cover up his beautiful body. I don’t even know where to start or finish when it comes to his tattoos, but I do know they only add to how utterly terrifying he can be.