Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
I step through the crowd of costumes. Everyone else appears to know what’s going on. Army, Trace, Iron, and Dallas take up positions in front of the onlookers, my car that Macon was working on today sitting behind them.
Army uses a key on his chain to pry up the lid on the can of paint that looks like it’s been opened a dozen other times. The sides of the can are lined with streams of red, the label long since faded and worn.
I pull on my coat again and replace my hat as I watch Iron plunge a brush into the paint, bringing it up and then down on Trace’s hand—his right one—slathering it.
He does the same to Dallas and Iron, and I look to Macon, but he’s not moving from the couch. Turin Wilcott’s hand is still up his shirt.
“Celli,” Iron calls.
I jerk my gaze, seeing Aracely head over, joining Iron and his family.
“Is this going to mess up my clothes?” some girl asks.
“Oh, yeah,” another mumbles.
I lean closer to the guy next to me. “What is this?”
“Red Right Hand,” he tells me. “Like tag with a twist.” People start to head into the street.
“Ten rounds,” the guy explains. “When the music starts, you run into one of four garages.” And he points over our shoulders to the buildings side by side. “One—two.” And then he gestures to the Jaeger garage we’re standing in and the fire station next door. “Three—four. You’re safe once you’re inside. When the music starts again, you run again. When it stops, you better be back in one of them.”
I check all four safe houses, seeing all the garages are open. One is being set up with a table of liquor. Great. Everyone will be rushing to that one in between rounds.
“You can come back to the same garages multiple times,” he says, “but you can’t stay in the same one for two consecutive rounds.”
Meaning, you can’t just hide out. Everyone runs.
“And the paint?”
He points to the Jaegers—and Aracely. “They’ll be in the street.
As you run, that’s when you’re not safe. They’ll tag you with the paint. Every handprint costs you a piece of clothing.”
I button up my vest.
“The object of the game is not to get tagged,” he states.
Obviously.
I can leave. This isn’t how he’s going to get me naked.
I charge over to Iron and dig in his pocket, scowling up at him as I search for my keys. Is he trying to be a jerk? If we fuck, it has to be insane. Not because I’m his prize.
I shove my hand in his other pocket and feel my keys but also something else. My underwear.
Iron looks down at me, his chest pressing against mine, but something catches my attention.
I shift my eyes to the right. Macon stares at me.
Again.
A banner hangs on the wall above his head, the hourglass emblem billowing in the breeze. He doesn’t blink and barely breathes, and Turin notices, following his gaze.
But mine doesn’t leave his.
And for a second, something somewhere inside of me hurts.
I slip my panties out of his brother’s pocket and step into them, careful as I pull them up underneath the skirt. I try not to look back at him, but I can’t help it.
Macon’s attention isn’t on me anymore, though. It’s on the street and the bottle nearly empty at his side.
“Love your costume, Krisjen,” Dallas coos. “We’ll have no problem finding you in a crowd.”
Yeah, a lot of people are wearing black. Won’t be hard to pick out all my green and purple and orange.
“Did they explain it to you, newbie?” Iron strolls behind me as I head to the street with the others. “You had a good education. What’s the Red Right Hand?”
“It’s from Paradise Lost,” I reply, joining the crowd in the middle of the road. “Divine vengeance.”
Maybe not a good education, but definitely a Catholic one.
He tips his head at me. “You know where you’re going?”
“I’ll protect her.” Trace wiggles his eyebrows. “If she wants me being the only one to see her naked tonight, that is.”
I sneer. “You’re such a gentleman.”
He plants a kiss on my forehead, and I jerk away.
I face them, the night breeze calm but thick, something heavy in the air. I’m already sweating.
I face them as they stand in the middle of the road, digging my heels into the ground and ready for the music to start.
Iron grins at me, but then he pulls off his jacket and rips open his shirt, tossing both on the ground. He gestures his brothers over and tells them something I can’t hear, the whole time stealing glances over at me.
“Shit,” I murmur.
“Hey, why can’t I be a Red Right Hand?” a man shouts off to my right. “How many times you guys want to see me naked?”
“It’s for everyone else, Chon,” Iron shouts. “They’ve heard how big you are. As hosts, we have to accommodate.”