Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Her little voice is my favorite sound in the world.
Only slightly above the sound her mother makes when she comes on my tongue.
Probably not two sounds I should be mixing in my head.
The driver reaches the Walt Whitman Bridge. Traffic is light, which is good. I’m not paying attention as we glide toward the center of the span, the Delaware rolling lazily beneath us, massive container ships lined up at the port.
How did it pain me so much when June tried to escape? Was I really starting to believe we were a family?
That’s my last thought before the truck rams us.
Metal crashes against metal. Plastic bends and scrapes. The driver curses as I’m tossed sideways, the world lurching. My shoulder hits the glass and my head knocks my arm, and I barely hold on as our car is pushed up against the guardrail.
Sparks fly, screaming wildly. The driver slams on the brakes, yanking me against my seatbelt. The truck careens ahead, gray smoke flaring from its wheels as it comes around, screeching to a halt.
The rail held. It’s bent sideways and we’re leaning precariously toward the water, but not over.
“Boss, are you okay?” The driver turns around. His name’s Tony? Or maybe Michael? Good man, clever—
His head explodes and blood mists the interior of the car.
More bullets smash into the front windshield. I grunt, slipping down, snapping off my seatbelt. The truck fires on our car, lighting it up. I reach into my jacket and grip my gun, edging across like I’m slithering on my belly, barely reaching the handle when the shooting pauses.
I shove the door open, but don’t get out.
The delay saves my life. More gunfire erupts, ripping into where I would’ve been.
I pop up and use the distraction. The windshield is mostly gone, leaving chunks and spider-webbed pieces. I fire at the truck and land direct hits to where the driver should be. Their glass is tinted so dark I can’t tell what’s inside, but I’m betting whoever is behind the wheel is dead.
In the next lull, I throw myself sideways and out, this time scrambling to the back of the car. The truck slews, wheels spinning out of control. It rams straight into the railing. I open fire, not sure what I’m aiming at. Anger takes over and all I can think is blood, is killing, is hurting those who tried to hurt me.
This is what I am at its purest. What I’ve always been, ever since coming home to my house burning, my car slamming to a halt in the front yard. My hands burning as I wrenched open the back door, my lungs bursting as I ran through the downstairs to find my brothers, my arms screaming as I dragged them out. Silas crying, Devlin in his arms; Kellan and Cassian clinging to each other, begging me to go back in for Leanna. The interior of the back room suddenly collapsing, the force of it flinging me into the yard. My brothers huddled together, sobbing, burned, coughing, bloodied. The ashes of our life spread out before us.
I come up shooting, a snarl in my throat. The gun bucks in my hand. The truck swerves, hits a sedan, goes spinning sideways. I walk toward it, shooting, shooting, pausing only to reload. I keep squeezing the trigger as rage turns my vision red, or maybe that’s the driver’s blood in my eyes. I still can’t remember his name.
The truck comes to a stop. The back door opens. I drop to a knee, aiming, as a body falls out.
It’s a young man in a black jacket. He hits the pavement and drags himself. Blood leaks from his throat. His jaw works, fear in his eyes.
I calmly cross to him and kick him in the teeth.
His face snaps sideways and he goes still.
The interior of the truck is carnage. The driver is dead. Another passenger is trapped by his seatbelt, struggling to get it off. He screams, cursing, tries to raise a gun. I shoot him in the face. His skull splatters more red across the seat.
Then it’s silence, followed by the distant wail of sirens.
I set my gun on the ground, get down on my knees, and put my hands behind my head.
Theodora’s going to earn her retainer today.
19
JUNE
There are more guards around the house.
Men I don’t know lurking among the trees. They keep their distance from me and Hattie. Nothing really changed, except I feel more eyes.
Not that Rafe needed to increase security.
I got the picture last night.
Hattie makes big ponies on the driveway. She chalks them in pinks and purples while I sit on the steps and text with Marnie. It’s nice going back and forth. Just knowing Marnie’s okay. I’m tempted to try Beth’s number, but after last night, it’s probably not a smart move.