Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I was willing to give you everything, and you made me your whore.”
My ears ring. My pulse rushes through my veins. I’ve broken her. I’ve done a lot of dark things in my life, but this has to be the worst.
“Don’t say that. That’s not fucking true.”
Swiping at her cheeks, she sniffles and laughs, but it’s manic, unnatural. “I’m so tired of hating you.”
My heart stops.
Pain radiates from her, the waves scorching me from flesh to bone.
She’s five feet from me. Every part in me screams to go to her and erase all of the pain hanging so heavy around us. Tell her I love her so fucking much it’s immeasurable.
“Kit…” I reach my hand out toward her, and she takes a weary step to the side.
“Don’t touch me.”
“I lo—” A crash sounds from behind the door, cutting me off.
“Daddy!” Rocco’s cry jolts me into action.
Rushing for the door, I swing it open, finding him standing by the dresser below the window, his palm covering his mouth, his other hand pointing down to broken glass where a huge water puddle is expanding on the floor. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“It’s okay, little man. Come here.” Lifting him up, his legs curl around my hip and arms cling to my neck.
“What happened?” Kitty gasps, her eyes feral.
“I’m sorry. He broke a vase. I’ll pay for it.”
“Where’s Goldie?” she asks frantically, searching the area.
“The cat ate him,” Rocco says, his bottom lip protruding.
“Who’s Goldie?”
“My fish!” she screams, her legs giving out and knees hitting the floor.
Sobs rack her body.
The grief is too extreme for a fish.
Panic fills my chest. “Kitty, I’ll get you another.”
“Get out.” A calm comes over her, and it scares me worse than the outburst.
“Kit…”
“G.E.T. O.U.T.” Her hands rake through the glass, fisting pieces that cut into her skin. “GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT.”
The door bursts open, and Callan’s voice echoes through my skull. “What the fuck is going on?” I feel like I’m standing on the other side of a veil, looking in at the chaos I created while being helpless to stop it.
To heal her.
To fix it.
She’s the fishbowl, fractured in pieces because someone was touching what they shouldn’t have.
Blood drips through her fingers, trailing down her arms, and I’m frozen. A crashing force hinders my movements. Remorse consumes me. I’m a coward.
“Cutter!” Callan barks.
“I broke her.”
“What?” He’s by her side, holding her by the wrists.
Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “The glass—it broke.” I choke on the words.
“Why are you standing there? Go get Rogue.”
“I’m sorry, Kit,” I say, gulping down the shame soaking into my bloodstream. I did this to her.
“I’m really fucking sorry.”
“There are three guards—two at the shutter door, one circling the perimeter. Two cameras, both at the front of the building, and we can take them out remotely,” Callan informs us. We’re on the verge of a small hill overlooking a building just below us beyond a small gathering of trees.
Night stretches out across the sky, blanketing the landscape in a thick cloak, enveloping us in its smothering heat. The sun set hours ago, but the warmth of its rays still clings to the air. Beads of sweat stick to my spine, making me restless.
Thoughts of Kitty consumed me all damn day. Rogue gave Kitty five stitches down her middle finger, and the rest were all superficial scrapes. The real damage isn’t on the surface, though. It’s bone-deep.
“As you can see, the neighboring warehouses are legit businesses with nightshifts coming and going. We have to go in quiet,” he continues. “Cutter, you’re up.”
Opening the tool bag, I pull out my overalls and yank the waterproof—a.k.a. blood-proof—suit up over my clothes before pulling on gloves.
“All he needs now is the hockey mask,” Dodger grunts.
“That’s Jason. You’re thinking of Michael Myers.” Monster cracks his neck, his gaze laser focused on the men below us.
“Who’s the one trying to kill his mother the whole time?”
“It’s his sister,” Monster corrects.
“Argh, yeah, I think it is Michael.”
“Can we all agree Cutter looks like Michael Myers and get this done?” Callan growls.
“Trick or treat, motherfuckers.” I wink to Monster.
Adrenaline zips through my veins as I descend the hill, shifting through the trees and creeping along a chain-link fence at the bottom. Checking that no one is around, I reach up and grip the top, heaving my body over in a quick flip movement. My boots hit the concrete on the other side with a soft thud, and I take off running the thirty feet to the warehouse, flattening against the wall to gather myself.
Unsheathing my blade and wrapping the handle in my grip, I sneak along the building and wait at the corner. As soon as I hear footfalls coming my way, I compose myself. A shadow turns the corner before a man appears, and I shoot out, plunging the steel blade into his neck. One—two—three—stab—stab—stab. His body falls limp into my arms, and I quietly drag him against the building before moving around the structure to the other side.