Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Otto was right,” he rasps in a weak voice. “Something did happen to them!”
Behind me, Saint shifts, and before I can say anything more, he joins me above the pitiful bastard on the floor. “You and him still friends?”
Brown grasps on to this like a lifeline, staring at Saint as if he was the good cop here. He has no idea…
“Kinda. Not really. We just… keep in touch, just in case. But he said he was 'going underground'. I never wanted to join his gang. I want none of that shit. I kept on the straight and narrow since… then.”
Saint’s voice is soft when he speaks, kneeling next to our mark and nodding. “He’s the one we want. After all, you didn’t actually kill anyone. You might get away with broken legs if you tell us where Otto is hiding.”
Everything inside me balks at that, but I keep my anger in check. I know he’s bluffing, since it’s the smart thing to do if Otto Grass really disappeared.
“I don’t know, man! He wouldn’t tell me. Please, I promise I’m not protecting him, he’s a fucking nutjob,” Brown says quickly.
Saint cocks his head while I burn with helpless anger. If I don’t get rid of them all, Otto will try to come after me, because he will know what this is all about. I shiver at the thought that he might have found my apartment in town and rummaged through it, but there’s no trace of my current location there. The cabin’s still safe.
“Okay then, what’s his number?” Saint asks.
Brown takes a shivery breath. “He’s under GrassMan. Phone’s in my pocket, PIN is four-four-eight-nine. Please… I don’t want any part in this.”
Shouldn’t have tagged along to my family home then. Or pushed me down the stairs. Or threatened my father with a broken bottle. Or helped set my house on fire. Memories of that night flood my brain with screams and cries for help, but Saint remains calm, looking out for me, as always.
“Four-four-eight-nine. Thanks, man,” he says, pulling the phone out from the bastard’s pocket. He types in the four digits, and then swipes the screen several times while I try to swallow the fact that Brown is not dead yet. Each of his breaths is an insult to the world.
“Good, he’s here all right,” Saint says before pocketing the phone and grabbing the prone body.
I meet Saint’s gaze. He knows what I want. Brown might be lanky, but it still takes a bit of effort to pull him back to his feet while he’s bound, but eventually Saint helps him up and offers me the tiniest of smiles. Brown’s facing us from the very top of those treacherous metal stairs.
Once more, my man and I understand each other without words. It’s so thoughtful of him that he would offer me this poetic justice.
He lets go.
I push.
Brown’s eyes go wide as he falls, but there’s nothing that can save him. His scream fills the silent interior of the mall when he drops, head-first, tumbling down the escalator like a useless piece of meat and bones. Several cracks make me hold my breath as I remember my own broken legs and hip, but I’m filled with a sense of satisfaction.
When Brown hits the floor at the bottom of the stairs, I exhale, and it feels as though I’m fully exhaling for the first time in years. The relief of seeing him tumble into the darkness below is so overwhelming I need to hold onto the handrail, but moments later, Saint puts his arms around me as we face the descent together.
And somehow, it no longer paralyzes me, as if dealing with my personal nightmare weakened my greatest fear.
As I lean into my lover, we both stiffen at the sound of a wheeze coming from below. Saint pulls away, grabs his flashlight, and sets it to a high beam, illuminating the grooved steps and the twisted shape just beyond them. I freeze at the sight of twitching limbs, and the food I ate earlier threatens to come up my throat.
There’s something so visceral about seeing a mangled body, yet I know who this man is, and push down my compassion, because Miles Brown has earned every single bruise and broken bone. Still, he’s alive, like I was after he tossed me to my death, so this is not the end. Pushing him felt so right moments ago, but now he’s down there, out of my reach.
Saint will have to do the deed for me. Again.
His hand slides to my hip in silent support, and while I feel utterly pathetic, I know he won't judge me. He wants to help, and I lean into his warmth as he clears his throat.
“Should I bring him back up?”
I take a deep breath. I’ve just thrown a man down the stairs. If I could do that, then I’m also capable of killing the monster from my nightmares.