Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Frank’s chest felt tight. Heavy. And a part of him hated seeing his ex-comrade in this situation, but he had been told no so many times and had still come here, endangering everything and everyone Frank wanted to protect. Jag could have been injured in some reckless attempt to stop the intruders, or Shane, surprised to see strangers at the junkyard. And finally, Ezra, who was naked, vulnerable, and unable to flee.
“You made your bed. Lay in it.”
The corners of Paul’s mouth twitched as the vehicles stopped. Voices erupted outside, but Frank would not budge. Not this time.
“You’d rather see me bleed out on your doorstep than help? After all we’ve been through?” Paul said, not flinching when someone honked their horn outside before shouting his full name.
“You should have forgotten I exist when I told you to.”
A bullet shattered a window without warning, and as Paul ducked, Frank stepped closer to Ezra.
“Don’t fucking shoot! He’s in here!” He yelled, itching to grab a gun.
“Then hand him over! We’re surrounding the house! That was your warning shot,” roared a deep voice.
Some fucking warning when the shot came out of nowhere and could have killed either of them.
“Stay down,” Frank hissed to Paul, and as much as he hated leaving Ezra’s side, he took three steps to the side to reach the drawer with his piece—
“Sorry, Frank. You’re leaving me no choice,” Paul rasped, sending the alarm bells in Frank’s head into a cacophony.
Deep down, he knew what he was gonna see. But when he turned around and saw a gun resting against Ezra’s now pale skin, the barrel pressed into his cheek while Paul stood behind him, embracing him from behind, the world stood still.
Ezra’s chest moved at a rapid pace, pumping the shallowest breaths as he stared back at Frank with shiny eyes while that reptile of a man stood a bit straighter, knowing he’d won.
“I tried being nice, Frank. You know I did,” Paul said as if to soften the blow.
There was no coming back from this for him.
“What will it be?” the stranger roared outside. “I have my men on all sides. Give him up, and I’ll leave you be.”
“I’m trying!” Frank shouted back, wading through the mess of frantic thoughts that crowded his head, only to hit a dead end each time, because that gun pointed at Ezra’s face? It left him no options.
“Try fucking harder! Bastard tried to kill me, and he has to be put down.”
Someone was dying tonight, and it wouldn’t be Ezra, if Frank had anything to say about it.
“Okay,” Frank whispered and took a step closer. “How do you want to do this? Six of them.”
Paul’s gaze darted around. He was a cornered animal about to lash out. Any advantage he had would be gone the moment he stepped away from Ezra. He might have come here for help, but he didn’t trust Frank anymore, and for good reason.
Frank’s hands balled into fists as Paul’s fingers moved, pulling over Ezra’s collarbones in a motion that seemed absentminded yet looked like a caress. Damp eyes met Frank’s, begging for help, but when the offending hand passed over Ezra’s face, the soft, pretty mouth snapped open, showing teeth.
Paul roared, opening his eyes wide as Ezra bit down on the side of the bastard’s hand. They both twitched when the gun went off, filling the air with the burn of gunpowder.
For a split second, Frank’s heart stopped.
Time stopped.
But it was only his brain that remained in limbo for a bit too long, because Frank’s body was already moving.
The bullet hit the ceiling without even grazing Ezra, and when Frank saw that Paul was ducking to pick up his fallen gun, he charged at him like a bulldozer. The bastard rolled back over the floor, sprung to his feet like a much younger man, and grabbed a knife off the kitchen counter. At least he couldn’t shoot them anymore.
“Give me a chance to flee, you fucker!” Paul rasped, backing away, because they both knew their chances in this fight have changed drastically.
Too little too late. Their long-standing truce has ended the moment Paul threatened Ezra in Frank’s home.
Frank might have been bare-chested, but that knife was no scalpel. As long as he avoided a stab in the guts, he’d survive, so he fell forward, grabbing the wrist of Paul’s offending hand and his throat. The wall was too close for the bastard to maneuver out of Frank’s hold, and he grunted when the wood creaked at the impact. He would try to kick, but Frank knew Paul’s technique by heart and came close to step on his feet. Then, with the firmest flick of his hand, he broke Paul’s wrist, and the knife fell.
The moment Paul ceased being a serious threat, Frank wrapped his arm around his neck and turned with this flesh puppet in his arms. Blood buzzed in his veins like angry hornets when he met Ezra’s eyes. “Do you want me to…?” he asked, even though the tears streaking down Ezra’s red face made Frank want to make the call on his own.