Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
But they did hurt us.
They did worse than hurt us.
Even after he came for us.
She wasn’t supposed to die. He was so angry he killed them all. I heard the shots in quick succession. Five of them. Five bullets for five men. And even though he told me not to look when he carried me out of that room, I did and I saw them lying there, dead, some with their eyes open. Blood coming from the holes in their foreheads.
I’m so lost in thought that when I hear a sound, a key in the lock, a man’s voice, I panic and scream thinking I’m back there. Thinking they’re coming for me, coming to take another finger. A whole hand. More.
No. It’s Cassian. It has to be. I force myself to breathe, remind myself I’m not fifteen anymore and I’m not there, in that cellar. What happened there happened five years ago and those men are dead, and my father is dead. My father who promised he’d never let anyone hurt me again. He was a liar. I’m a liar too. I told Cassian my father never hurt us.
It takes me a minute to realize the whimpering is me. I count to four as I take a slow deep breath, my eyes on the bobbing light of what must be a flashlight. I hold my breath for four, then exhale for six and start again and watch. My arms are numb, my body aches. I lick my lips, my throat parched and get ready to call out to him. To apologize. To beg him to take me out of here. To not hurt me. To please not hurt me.
But it’s not Cassian. I know from the way he moves. The way he stops at the bottom of the stairs and shines the light around until it lands on me, and I shrink back, turning my face away, the light too bright after all this dark.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.
No, not Cassian. It’s his brother. Stepbrother.
I breathe. I try to stop the frantic pounding of my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I try to say, but I’m not sure the words are forming the way they’re supposed to. “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, putting the flashlight down as he unbuttons his shirt and pulls it over his head. In the beam of light, I see smooth skin, hard muscle, and scars. A lot of scars on his chest and stomach. “Lean into me,” he says, pulling me forward as much as the locks will allow and draping his shirt over my shoulders. It’s warm and I pick up the scent of aftershave. Different than Cassian’s. More refined. Just as dangerous.
“Come on, I’m going to get you out of here.”
I nod, shivering. He’s warm. Heat is coming off his skin.
“How long have you been down here?” he asks.
“I… I don’t… know.”
He unlocks the shackles of one wrist. My arm drops to my side. My legs are stiff, my knees weak, and my arms completely numb.
“Come on,” he says, wrapping an arm around me, taking my weight as he unshackles my other wrist. I collapse into his arms, not realizing it was the shackles holding me up. Jet scoops me up. I burrow against him, tuck myself against chest, his heat. He looks down at me, but it’s too dark to read his eyes. He uses the flashlight to light our way as he carries me up the stairs where I see Enzo waiting by the door.
“He didn’t authorize her release,” Enzo says icily.
For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to put me back down there and I whimper, curl myself into Jet’s arms.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” Jet says, holding me closer and shoving past Enzo. “She’s going to fucking freeze to death down there, fucking idiot.”
He’s right. I’m freezing. I’m shaking all over. Jet’s chest is warm and solid, and I watch, my eyes adjusting to the light up here as he leads me to one of the locked doors I’d found a few days ago. He takes out a key and lets himself in then closes the door and switches on the light. It’s a bedroom, neutral in design. Is it his? He doesn’t live here, does he?
He carries me to the bed, pushes the duvet over and sets me down, his forehead furrowed as he looks me over.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Not here. Are you hurt?” he asks. “Did he hurt you?”
“Cold.” I’m shivering so hard my teeth are chattering. I try to pull the blankets close with my numb fingers. Jet does it for me, wrapping the blankets tightly around me. He crouches down to rub warmth into my arms before taking one of my feet and rubbing it. I’m so cold it feels like I’ll never warm up. He does the same with my other foot before tucking both beneath the blanket.