Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Dangerous.
No doubt about it.
All these clean motherfuckers are.
“Well, well,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me. “They said you looked scarily identical, and they were correct. Hello, Dakoda. I’m sure you know me ...”
I say nothing. Nothing at all.
And I won’t say a single fucking thing.
Not to this bastard.
Not to any of them.
“I’m Shanks.”
That’s him? That’s the motherfucker who runs this show? Who my brother is so fucking afraid of that he’d attempted to take his own life to escape him? Fuck, I could rip him apart with my bare fucking hands.
“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” he goes on, his voice silky smooth and calm. He does this a lot. He’s a pro. That much is clear. “Braxton hasn’t been easy to find, but when I got word of a twin ... Well, you can imagine the plan was fairly simple, bring you here, and Braxton will follow, eventually.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I spit, anger getting the better of me.
It always gets the fuckin’ better of me.
“What then?” I challenge.
Shanks grins. “I have a strong feeling your brother isn’t going to leave you and run. I could be wrong, after all, he isn’t all that smart as I’m sure you well know, but my guess is his conscience won’t let him leave you in our hands.”
“You’d be wrong, then,” I growl. “So you’re better off killin’ me now. My brother ain’t comin’.”
But I know Braxton. I know him well. He can be selfish and hard and all of the shitty things a human can be, but I know, deep in my fucking gut, that when it comes down to it, he’ll come after me. I know it, just as well as I knew when he got into trouble that I’d lay my life on the line for him.
We’ve always had each other’s backs.
I know that won’t change.
“Oh.” Shanks laughs, throwing his head back. “I’m not going to kill you, that would be far too much fun. If Braxton doesn’t show, I’ll torture you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, until you tell me where he is. Either way, Braxton will come to me, because of you. And I’ll kill him.”
“Torture away,” I hiss, holding his eyes. “I’ll never tell you where my brother is.”
Shanks smiles, and it’s cold and deadly.
“Have it your way. This should be fun.”
He won’t get it out of me.
So help me fucking God, I’ll protect my brother at all costs.
Even if that cost is my life.
-19-
NOW – CHARLIE
Guilt.
It is swarming in my chest, making me feel so uneasy I don’t say a word the whole way home. Even when we get there, I retreat into my room, refusing to speak to anyone. Eventually, the others go home and Koda and I are the only ones to remain. He leaves me be, which I’m grateful for. I don’t need him to make me feel worse than I already feel right now.
The thought of Ellie being still out there, still being tortured, makes me feel sick.
I could have gotten her out that day, I’m sure there would have been a way if I really tried.
But I didn’t.
Not really.
I was so afraid, and because of me, Slater has lived in agony for over ten years, wondering where she is, wondering if she’s okay, or if she’s even alive still.
Because of me.
I push off my bed when the sun has set and walk into the kitchen, finding a bottle of vodka and opening it, drinking four big mouthfuls before slamming it down on the counter beside me.
“Not goin’ to help you feel better.”
I spin around to see Koda walking in, shirtless and fresh out of the shower.
“Don’t tell me what will, and will not, make me fucking feel better, Dakoda. You don’t know shit.”
His hair is dripping, and the droplets are running down his forehead, and god, he looks gorgeous. I hate that I’m so attracted to him. I hate how pathetic he makes me feel, because he doesn’t feel the same. That only makes me angrier until a tense ball feels like it’s building in my stomach, bubbling up until I’m barely able to contain it.
I’m so angry.
At myself.
At Dakoda.
At my life.
Mostly, at my father.
“Snappin’ at me ain’t goin’ to make it better, either.”
I spin around and pick up the closest thing I can find, which happens to be the bottle of vodka. I don’t think, I just hurtle it across the room, right at him. I’m so angry. So bitterly angry. He ducks just in time and the bottle smashes against the wall, sending glass and vodka everywhere.
“Don’t you fucking tell me what’ll make me feel better,” I scream, so loud I scare myself. “You know nothing about me. Fucking nothing. Stop acting like you give a fuck about me. We both know you don’t. You’re as selfish as the fucking rest of them. Just pussy. Just pussy. That’s what you called me. You piece of crap!”