Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Click.
A hollow click.
I pulled the trigger a second time.
Click.
Third time.
Click.
“Jesus …” Slade whispered. The most foreign expression took hold of his face.
Shock? Fear? Devastation?
No … it wasn’t any of those things. For a few seconds, I saw a reddening of his eyes, a tiny glimpse of his rawest of emotions.
Betrayal.
He felt betrayed.
I felt like screaming and running. But my cries would’ve died inside those walls. And with Jericho by the only exit, I had nowhere to go.
No bullets.
No plan.
No chance.
No hope.
I let the gun drop to the floor, and I held up my hands near my face, curling them into fists.
“I’m not going to fight you, Livy.” He released his towel and grabbed his briefs from the top of the dresser, followed by a clean pair of jeans and a black tee.
My stance remained ready to take a punch or throw one. I was going to leave the firehouse that night … or die trying.
“You pulled the trigger.” He picked up the gun while sliding his other hand under the edge of the mattress. “Not going to lie, that hurt. Kinda felt like you did shoot me right in the fucking heart.” From under the mattress he retrieved a black cartridge thing and shoved it into the bottom of the gun. My heart sank.
The magazine … filled with ammunition.
I had two fists and he had a loaded gun.
“So that’s what it feels like?” Our gazes locked as he concealed the loaded gun into the waist of his jeans. “Loving someone without reason? Having your heart broken?” He shook his head slowly just like he released his next breath, blinking several times, hands idle at his sides.
My words were paralyzed somewhere in my body, far from my mouth, because I had two fists and he had a loaded gun. On his computer there was a message offering him a bonus for my head. It wasn’t his job to fuck me or protect me. Assassins killed people. That was his job. I was his job. “Yeah,” I finally managed to find the whisper of a voice, blinking out another few tears. “That’s what it feels like.”
“You still want to fight?” He focused on my hands fisted by my face like an unbreakable statue.
“I want to live … I want to go home.”
“This is your home.”
I shook my head.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
My eyes flitted, gaze focused on where he had the gun. His attention followed my line of sight, and he slowly pulled the gun back out and set it on the dresser behind him.
“It’s loaded now. Just for you. Get the gun, Livy.”
I remembered loving him, wanting nothing more than his arms around me, the look in his eyes when he was inside of me. My hands remembered what it felt like when he took them and guided me to the car, across campus, or out of the sand at the beach.
The tenderness.
The love.
The smiles.
The whisper of promises.
And all of that just … made me livid.
My heart free falling into Slade Wylder’s world.
Vulnerable.
Frightened.
Suicidal.
Stupid, crazy, impulsive heart.
I shoved the lamp off the nightstand. His gaze followed as I landed a fist into his face, a knee to his ribs … another jab to his face, his nose, his groin. He did nothing more than let his body move naturally with the force of strikes. I drew blood from his nose, his lip, the corner of his eye … I drew blood from my knuckles, channeling the pain into my next breath.
With each hit, I counted my breaths. I waited for him to fight back, but he didn’t. He also didn’t go down. A dead expression took over his face. I couldn’t recognize it. Nothing I did was new to him. He was like Jessica—fearless, focused, and conditioned to take everything. It was like someone took his life long ago without actually stopping his heart or stealing his breaths.
I stepped back, straightening my fingers slowly. They were covered in blood and pulsing to the beat of my heart. Throbbing. Aching. “Wh-who did this to you? Who tortured you?” My eyes shifted up to meet his face.
It bled, but his eyes remained two dark holes like pieces of coal, no life. He didn’t answer.
On the nightstand, his phone vibrated with a call. I glanced at it and then at Slade while slowly grabbing it. I slid the bar to the right and pressed speaker.
“Livy …” Abe’s voice rose from the phone. “What did you do with my boy?”
My eyes narrowed.
“You’re wondering how I know. Aren’t you? Easy … he doesn’t respond to his messages. Ever. I just send him things to prod him into action, to remind him that I’m always watching. Now … what did you do with my boy?”
Slade made no attempt to speak, no attempt to move, not so much as a blink.