Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
His eyes narrow right back, a clear indication he knows what I’m thinking and he pointedly drops them to my neck. To the collar he locked around it.
I’m the one he claimed.
Something stirs in my chest and I relent, releasing the man.
They don’t hesitate to continue their brawl, and I sigh as I watch them roll around, knowing full well Bastian has the stamina of a beast. He can go all day.
I watch as he takes the Brayshaw by the throat, squeezing until his face grows an unsettling shade of purple, considering we’re outnumbered if this goes any further south. But just before the point of unconsciousness, he tosses Royce to the side.
They hop to their feet, and then a softer voice calls out.
“Are you guys done now?” We all look and my brows jump at the sight.
Okay, she’s not what I expected, but it’s clear by the way Bastian turns to stone she is, in fact, Brielle Bishop.
She’s a foot shorter than him, if not more, and her hair is a shiny, silky white in color, the complete opposite of his six-foot-plus frame and ink-black hair.
There’s a tender softness about her, which is so strange considering the world she was raised in. But it’s there. She looks as angelic as he made her out to be.
However, my world has taught me looks can be deceiving, even if I’m not so sure that’s the case this time around.
“You’re in his house …” Bastian’s voice is low and changing, awe and horror twisting together as he steps closer. “I know what this place means to them, to him. If you’re inside this house, then you’re …”
“Inside his heart?” Brielle responds, her tone soft and loving, even in her anger.
Good. He deserves that.
I can’t see Bastian’s face from here, but his shoulders begin to stiffen, refusing to accept what she’s insinuating. “Brielle.”
Bass slips between her and Royce, gripping his sister’s arm and he dashes up the steps, takes her by the arm, and pulls.
But then, everyone outside of Brielle and Bastian shifts at once, blocking her.
Shit.
As I expected, he loses it, starts screaming and shouting in their faces.
“Are you for fucking real?! You want to guard her from me? That’s my fucking sister!” My chest aches at what he’s not saying, at what they don’t understand.
He loves her with all the parts of her he can. She is his family. His only family and he’s here right now, fighting, because he’s worried. Afraid. He wants her away from danger and based on what he knows about this town, he doesn’t feel like she has that here. This is torture for him and I want to fix it. Tranq everyone and take her wherever he wants her to go.
But then Brielle slips through the wall of muscles hiding her, slowly edging toward her brother, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She understands. She gets it. Knows him and how he’s feeling inside.
Or I thought she did, but then she says, “Bass, please. Don’t do this.”
“Seriously?!” flies from my mouth before I can stop it and they look back to find me sitting on the edge of the window frame. “We drove ten fucking hours through the night to get to you, then you ignore him for days, and that’s the first shit you say when he whoops ass in your name?!”
I mean, come on … seriously?!
“Shut up!” Bass shouts, not impressed with my lie or speaking out. So the drive was no more than a few hours, and I wasn’t even conscious during them. That’s not the point. We had a fucking day and we’re here. “What, you know you’re thinking the same thing!”
He jerks around then, warning in his gaze, letting me know I’m doing nothing to help here. “I said—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I stop him before he starts again, dropping back in the seat and rolling up the window.
But I watch and strain my ears a few moments longer because I suspect I have the sister’s attention.
“Who is that?” she wonders.
“Don’t.” He swiftly shuts her down. “Get in the car, Brielle. Now.”
But she makes no move and the words that leave him next have my muscles stiffening. “You don’t belong here, Brielle. Let’s go.”
There’s a shift in his tone the moment the words leave him, and I swear I know exactly what he’s thinking and feeling as it does.
They’re words he’s heard time and again, words he knew were true but never thought he cared about because “fuck the world.” Then I spat them at him in a room full of people who thought they were bigger and better because their name claimed they were born to be.
They weren’t—aren’t.
As I knew it would, his gaze, as brief as it is, flicks to mine.
I was wrong, love. You were meant to be mine.