Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96404 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Nao?” he croaks, his voice hoarse and gritty, as if the act is taking up all his energy.
I nearly break down from the flood of relief while I blurt. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“What happened…?” He attempts to sit up and groans as he falls on his back.
I keep a gentle but firm hand on his chest so he stays in place. “Don’t move. You were shot and the bleeding has just barely stopped.”
“Fuck,” he grumbles, the rumble of his voice deeper than usual.
Everything is different. His face. His weakness. This whole damn place.
Sebastian looks down at his wound that I’m covering with my T-shirt, then back at me. His inquisitive gaze studies me from top to bottom as if he’s relearning my body, then it soon turns frantic. “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”
I don’t know if it’s his worried tone or the way that instead of asking about his own injury, he’s only focused on my well-being. It could be both of those combined, but I can’t control it when big, fat tears cascade down my cheeks.
“Baby…” Sebastian’s frown deepens. “Are you hurt?”
“No, you’re the one who was shot and nearly bled out. Why the hell are you worried about me?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re always the first thing I think about. Gotta protect what’s mine, baby.”
I want to tell him that no, I’m not his and that we’re over because of the stupid bet he accepted from Reina. I want to argue and fight him because he thought it was a good idea to be part of a dare where he had to fuck me to impress the campus’s queen bee and his football team buddies.
I want to shout at him over all the humiliation I felt when the cheerleaders, led by that bitch Brianna, made me the laughing stock of school.
But that’s not important right now.
Not when his life is on the line.
“We need to get out of here.”
“Where are we?” he speaks with difficulty, straining with every word.
“I don’t know. It seems like some sort of a prison.”
“Do you know who did this?”
“I…think so.”
He gives me a questioning look, blinking rapidly, probably trying to stay focused.
I lick my lips. “The man who shot you said, Told you we’d meet again, Hitori-san. He has the same voice as one of the men who visited me and Mom not too long ago. His name is Ren and I think he’s one of my dad’s men.”
“Your dad’s men?”
“Mom warned me that he’s dangerous.”
“What does he do exactly?”
“I don’t know, but Ren is definitely the one behind this.”
Static fills the room and we both freeze as a suave voice echoes through the air, “Ding ding ding. That is correct. Now, let the games begin.”
3
Sebastian
I thought I knew pain.
When I was six years old and was in that accident with my parents, I broke my arm and bruised my ribs.
It hurt like a mother and I couldn’t breathe without wanting to cry. There were countless voices floating around me, speaking and arguing in Japanese. When I woke up in the hospital, though, my grandparents were there and told me I’d live with them.
You’ll be a ‘real’ Weaver now. Those were Grandma’s actual words. In order to do that, she said I’d have to forget everything my parents had taught me.
They didn’t attempt to lessen the blow of a child learning that his parents were dead. That I no longer had a mother or a father.
That the world as I knew it had collapsed with no chance of ever rebuilding again.
I lay there with my casted arm on my chest. My lungs exploded with every breath and my face felt swollen.
But I still didn’t feel any pain.
Or maybe I felt so much pain all at once that I blacked out.
I’ve always used that time in my life as a reference for any discomfort I’ve felt. Strained muscles? That’s nothing. Sprained an ankle? Child’s play.
But none of those compare to the pulsing pain in my upper shoulder. It’s as if invisible hands are rummaging through my wound, digging and twisting until my breath is stolen.
It might be bearable if I were alone. If Naomi wasn’t pressing her shirt against it with a desperation that mutes the color of her dark eyes as moisture clings to her long lashes and forms lines down her flushed cheeks.
Watching her cry is equivalent to digging a shard of glass into my chest.
I don’t like seeing her hurt, especially if it’s because of me.
Now we’re both searching our surroundings to find the voice that filled the room a few seconds ago.
Let the games begin, he said.
Naomi mentioned that she recognized him in the forest and that he could be one of her father’s men.
She once said that she was searching for her dad and that her mom didn’t want her to connect with him, which is one of the main reasons that her relationship with her mom was strained.