Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
She’s not, dammit.
I leave the house and close the door behind me, freezing when I see Lucky leaning against his bike beside mine.
“How’d you find me?”
“GPS. You good?”
I nod. “Fine.”
“All righty, then.”
We don’t say another word; just get on our bikes and head back to the clubhouse, silently agreeing not to talk about anything that happened inside that cottage.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cassidy
I’m so fucking hungry I can barely think straight. It feels like my stomach is eating itself, gnawing away at whatever’s left. Over the past few days, I’ve barely eaten a couple of tacos and a bottle of water. My body aches for something more substantial, but there’s nothing. Just this gnawing hunger that’s starting to eat away at my sanity.
Then, the hallucinations start. They creep in at the edges of my vision, whispers and shadows that make me doubt my own mind. I see Diesel’s smirk, hear his teasing words, but I know he’s not really here. He can’t be. And my dad, his voice urging me on, telling me to keep fighting, to stay strong. But he’s not here either. It’s just me, all alone in this hell.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the visions, the voices. I tell myself they’re not real and can’t let them get to me. But it’s hard to keep fighting when I’m not even sure what I’m fighting for anymore. The temptation to succumb to the madness is overwhelming.
A voice penetrates my thoughts, feminine and slightly familiar, but nothing I can pinpoint. I hear a lot of voices across the radio, at warehouses, and truck stops, so it could be anyone. But there’s something about this one, a sense of déjà vu.
She’s cooing to a man in a cutesy baby talk. “I’m doin’ so good, aren’t I, baby? They don’t even know.” She’s fishing for compliments, almost desperate for approval.
“Yeah, babe, you did good.” That voice belongs to Ghost. “But I need you to keep your eye on the prize, and then we can be together.”
“I’ll make Papi forget all about that traitor bitch. Maggie. Cabrona,” she says. Then I hear a loud thump. Something, or someone, just hit the floor. Hard.
“Never mention her name again. Got it?” Ghost snaps, and the girl’s whimper slices through the air.
As their voices fade, a silence envelops the place. It’s a stark contrast to the usual nighttime chaos. The blaring music and party atmosphere is gone, and it dawns on me. It must be daytime. The quiet allows me to pick up on more of what’s happening around the house.
As I sit in my dark cell, I hear a lot, even though I have no context for the details. Some guy named Rojas was killed in prison, and these guys think Diesel’s motorcycle club had something to do with it, and because of that they are talking about revenge and settling scores.
“That bitch in the closet will help us seal the deal,” one of them says in a wicked tone that leaves me cold and shaking.
I press myself closer to the door, straining to hear more. But I’m cautious, careful not to make a sound. They don’t know I’m listening, and I need to keep it that way. I want to know what they’re planning, even if it won’t help me. Even if it’s just confirming what I already know—they have no intention of letting me go.
Suddenly, everything changes.
A loud thud, followed by grunts and muffled voices. Gunshots, the unmistakable sound of a silencer in use. My heart races, pounding against my chest like a trapped animal. “Holy shit. Holy shit,” I whisper to myself, pressing my back against the far wall of the closet.
I curl into a ball, burying my face in my knees. “Oh God. Oh God.”
I cover my ears, trying to block out the sounds of violence just beyond the door. But I can’t block out the fear, the knowledge that whatever’s happening out there, it’s not going to end well for me.
The door opens, and I gasp, making myself even smaller until my face is damn near burrowed into my belly. My body starts to rock as my heart pounds, and tears burn my eyeballs. I try to make myself invisible, which is impossible in a closet this small. “No, stop!” I shrink back when a hand lands on my shoulder, tugging me forward. “Let me go!”
“Cassidy, it’s me, Diesel.”
Diesel? My mind reels at the sound of his name. It’s a hallucination; it has to be. Diesel isn’t here. He can’t be. This is just another trick of my mind, a cruel illusion produced by my desperation.
“Cassidy,” Diesel insists, his voice sounds real. But I won’t let myself believe it. The warmth of his arms around me, the deep rumble of his voice—it’s too much. I shrink into myself, telling myself it’s just my mind playing tricks on me.