Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Violet nods. “Thanks, Joe. We’re on our way.”
The furious energy in me boils and simmers to a dangerous heat. Someone’s left a velvet-lined box of throwing knives, Violet’s weapon of choice, on a nearby table. I grab the nearest one, pull my arm back, and whip it at the target at the end of the range. Violet flinches when it sinks straight into the heart. She grabs a second one from the box and I half-expect her to throw it, too, but she slides it into to her ankle sheath. My girl loves her throwing knives.
My girl.
My woman.
My everything.
I don’t even remember the last time I cried but fuck if it doesn’t tempt me. Throwing the knife hasn’t helped at all.
A brisk wind kicks up when we step outside, flecks of snow and ice raining down. This time of year in Salem it’s rare for snow, but the occasional freezing rain isn’t out of the question. My instinct is to drape my arm around Violet to protect her from the cold, but the way she holds herself tells me that wouldn’t be welcome right now. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her, and I don’t fucking blame her at all.
Skylar waits for us.
We have a job to do. I gave her my word, and even if everything’s over between us—even if she wants to leave forever—I made her a promise, and I intend on keeping it.
Chapter Twelve
Violet
I hate that I’m in this truck with Cain and Skylar, knowing that I have to leave. I hate that he’s told me all this now, right when we’re on the cusp of doing what I came here for. A part of me reasons that he didn’t tell me before now because he didn’t want to jeopardize this operation, but… I know better.
It kills me to know that everything I had here—the friendship, the family, the love of a man a woman could only dream of—is now gone.
I look out the window and see Romulus and Remus staring at me, their eyes hopeful that I’ll come home. They wait for me in the window when I leave and wag their little butts when I return. But this time… I’m not returning.
How could I? How could I trust anything at all after what Cain told me?
I’d had sneaking suspicions, but all this time figured it was only in my head. Someone was following me. Someone was trailing me. Back when we hunted for the man who abducted Skylar, he was after me, too, and I assumed that those feelings of being followed were only because of him, because I didn’t feel that way anymore after we apprehended him and the brother he worked with.
But I know the truth now. I didn’t feel like anyone was following me anymore because I was with Cain, and he had no reason to track me when I was in his fucking house.
All people react differently when they’re angry. Some scream and throw things, and I have vivid recollections of a foster mother who’d done just that. After being on the receiving end of one of those adult tantrums, I’d made up my mind that would never be me. Ever.
Some people cry. Some drown themselves in cookie dough and ice cream, and others in alcohol or drugs.
Me? I shut off my emotions. I can’t feel anymore when I’m angry. I retreat to a place of practicality, a pragmatic approach, I suppose. I think of what I can control, what I can do, and I throw myself wholeheartedly into that. Sometimes that means cleaning the hell out of my bedroom, my car, or a closet. Sometimes that means running until my feet feel like they’re on fire and sweat drenches my body. Sometimes that means a boxing workout, no gloves, that tears the skin off my hands because for some reason, that feels damn good.
And I can’t do any of those things right now. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, willing myself to stay calm.
Cain takes the driver’s seat, and I don’t argue. This truck’s hard to maneuver, and I don’t trust myself not to wreck it in the state of mind I’m in.
Skylar looks at me, then Cain, then blows out a breath. “So, I’m guessing you all had that conversation that I suggested?”
“You knew?” I ask, my eyes flashing.
“Not on purpose,” Skylar says. “Recently stumbled on some incriminating evidence, but I wanted Cain to be the one to talk to you.”
“Oh yeah. Well he did, and I don’t want to talk about it, Sky.”
“Violet…” her voice trails off.
I grunt in reply.
“I mean it was a shitty thing to do, but I—”
“I literally just said I don’t want to talk about it,” I snap.
“But Violet, seriously.”
Cain makes a growling sound. “Skylar, enough. Knock it off,” he says in that big brother tone that means business.