Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Before I can continue to question myself, I feel Griffin’s hand cupping my cheek. I force my complete attention back to him. His hand is rough, warm, and somehow grounding. It also makes me forget how to breathe.
His face gets closer, eliminating the distance between us, making my heart pound inside my chest. As his lips brush against mine, I whimper. The kiss is soft at first, testing the waters. When I eagerly return his kiss, he deepens it—robbing me of air, thought, and logic. His scent of leather and cigarettes, permeates the area around me. I enjoy the hypnotic pull of him, letting the world fade away. Now, there’s only me and him and that’s exactly what I want right now.
Just when I start to think maybe—maybe—this morning isn’t a total disaster, a sharp popping noise splits the air around us.
Then another.
“What the—”
Before I can finish my question, several more pops explode around us. Griffin’s entire body tenses. In one motion, he shoves me down, covering me with his weight. Pain explodes in my body as I hit the ground hard.
“What are you—Get off me!” I gasp, starting to get scared. I feel lost and so confused.
“Hush, Georgie,” he whispers fiercely, over me as he presses me tight between his body and the hard, uncompromising ground beneath me. “Don’t move. Someone’s shooting at us.”
My body goes rigid. For a second, I don’t process the words. Then I hear it again—the sharp, awful popping—and the panic hits. My heart races, as my breath starts coming too fast and very ragged. I’m drowning in fear when Griffin adjusts his position, still keeping me covered but pulling a gun out and shooting in the direction of the road.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I say those words over and over. It becomes a panicked mantra—or prayer. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to hold onto hope that we survive.
7 GEORGIA
Eventually, the world goes completely silent except for the pounding of my heartbeat. Griffin’s body is pressed tight against mine, heavy and protective. His breath is ragged in my ear. I can still smell the gunpowder in the air but thankfully, the gunfire has stopped. For a long, terrible moment, neither of us moves. Then, Griffin slowly lifts his head. I watch as he scans the yard. His eyes are hard now, sharp in a way that makes my stomach twist. It’s almost as if he is a different person.
“Are you okay?” his gritty voice rumbles, sending electrical sparks of awareness through my system.
I nod, though my throat feels too tight to answer, but I force the words out. “Y-yeah. I think so.” Griffin pushes up on one arm, wincing, and that’s when I see it—his sleeve is torn and there’s a dark red patch spreading under his tee, near his shoulder. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “You’re bleeding!”
“It’s nothing,” he mutters, brushing it off like I just told him it was cold outside.
“Nothing?” I squeak. “Griffin, you were just shot!”
“Grazed,” he corrects, grimacing slightly as he moves his arm. “It just nicked me. I’ve had worse.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? You’ve been shot on my grandmother’s front lawn.”
He actually smiles—smiles—like this is somehow funny. “Worried about me, baby?”
“Griffin,” I practically plead, my voice drops. “You need to go to the hospital.”
He shakes his head. “No hospitals. I’m fine.”
My hands go to my hips automatically, my heart still racing. “You’re not fine. Griffin! You’re bleeding. That’s about as far from okay as you can get,” I explain, trying not to shriek.
“Georgie.” His tone is gentle now, almost pleading. “Just help me clean it up, yeah? I’ll be all right.”
There’s something in his voice that makes me stop arguing—something stubborn and exhausted and something I can’t readily define, but I think it might be fear—although I sense it’s fear for me, not himself. That kind of pisses me off.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But if you pass out, I’m calling 911.”
He gives me a crooked grin. “Deal.”
We stand up and using his good arm, he pulls me to him as we walk back inside. Nana’s standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as saucers, fear painted all over her face. It’s a look that I never want to see on my grandmother’s face again.
“The police,” she starts, and her voice is trembling. I move from Griffin’s side and hug her.
“I’ll call the club and our contact at the sheriff’s office, Nana,” he promises.
“What happened out there?” she asks, and this time I can see the anger bleed through her fear.
“Drive-by,” Griff says dryly, like he’s commenting on the weather.
“Drive-by?” She squints at him. “Is my Georgie in danger being with you, Griffin?”
I want to argue that I’m not with him. I can’t make the words form on my tongue. I don’t know what to do with that. I push my fear aside for now. I need to make sure that Griffin is okay. That’s all I can handle right now.