Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
"You can't. You have to go."
"Andi, Toll woke up," I said, watching as terror moved across her face, eyes going huge, lips parting. "I know," I added, voice low.
"No," she said, shaking her head frantically. "No, you don't. You don't know anything. You can't know anything, okay? You have to go. It's not sa—" she started, glancing over at her neighbor.
"Ah, you guys maybe need to talk, yeah?" she asked, looking to Andi for clarification.
"Yeah," I agreed even as Andi gave her a small nod.
"Okay. Well. I am going to be across the hall. In silence. Listening by my door. Just in case," she added, waving the bat at me as a silent threat, then retreating out of the apartment, closing the front door with a quiet click.
"Andi..."
"You have to go," she half demanded, half pleaded, her voice cracking.
"I can't go," I said, shaking my head as I kicked out of my shoes, moving onto the edge of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, reaching down to reach for her like I'd done many-a-time in our friendship, pulling her up beside me, tucking her against my chest. "I can't leave you like this, you know that," I added, arm wrapping around her tight.
"You have to," she insisted, trying to weakly push me off the bed, but not managing to budge me at all. That defeat just seemed to make whatever control she had snap, her forehead falling onto my shoulder, a choked sob escaping her.
"It's okay. You're alright," I insisted, giving her body a squeeze.
"No," she objected, shaking her head.
"I know you've been through something, baby. But it's over."
"It's not over. It's not. You don't understand."
"You're right," I agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, not caring about the promise I made to myself not to put my hands on her again. "I don't. But I want to. Tell me."
"They... I can't. That's the point. I can't."
"They threatened you," I guessed, stomach twisting. "They said if you said anything, something would happen to someone you love. Your mom," I figured.
"Mom. And Hope. But... but mostly you."
Me.
That made sense. If they figured out who I was, what club I belonged to. A club that could be a major threat to them. A club that could and would exact swift revenge for any hair of hers that they blew out of place.
"No one can hurt me," I assured her in the cocky way I had done back in our teens, getting a snorting laugh out of her.
"Yes, they can."
"Tell me what happened," I demanded, my hand starting to drift up and down her spine, trying to calm her down as I felt her start to tense.
"They shot Toll," she said, voice catching.
"They did," I agreed. "But he's fine. Full of piss and vinegar and worried about you. Danny said it was the first thing he said when he woke up. That she needed to get me. So I could get you."
"Is he really hurt?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?" she asked, pushing up to look at me, her concern for a hurt being outweighing her fear.
"I was more worried about what he had to say about you."
"Did he look okay?" she insisted, making my stomach knot, that damn jealousy coursing through me again.
"He looked a little pale. He was in a coma. But he's fine. I need to know what happened after Toll was shot, baby."
I had no business using pet names with her.
Especially not that one.
But I couldn't seem to stop myself either.
"I, ah, they... they grabbed me," she said, swallowing hard, shaking her head like she was trying to brush away the memory. "And put me in the trunk. When we got out, I was led into a house because one of their men was shot."
"You had scrubs on," I remembered. "They thought you were a doctor."
"Yeah."
"Then what happened?" I asked, watching as she winced, her gaze moving downward, studying my shirt. "Andi, anything that happened, you can tell me. If they hurt you..."
"No, well," she said, sighing.
"How did they hurt you?"
"They didn't. I mean not intentionally. I, ah, I had bruises from them, you know, handling me. On my stomach and my forearms."
I had a flash of a memory of the day in the parking lot where she'd pulled her long sleeve tee further down on her arm. Because she knew if I saw a bruise, I'd have questions.
"I can cut off the hands that did it," I offered, keeping my tone light, even playful, even if I was having fantasies of doing it in my mind.
"Niro," she said, shaking her head. "I'm alright."
"You're not alright," I objected. "You're not sleeping," I reminded her, reaching outward, hand framing her face, the tip of my finger tracing under her eyes at the purple smudges there. "What happened after you got to the house?"