Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Ian didn’t know which would destroy her first, the anger or the pain. He hated how much she blamed him for something. What? He didn’t know. It made no sense to him.
Jersey swallowed hard, refusing to let go of a single tear. “How could you leave them there to die?” She bit her quivering lower lip. “Who … who does that?”
“Leave wh—” Ian’s words died, leaving his mouth open, choking on disbelief.
No.
She couldn’t think he did that.
Ian’s gaze shifted over her shoulder to the hallway. Where was Chris? Surely, he heard them.
“Jersey … just stay here.” He took a step toward her.
Smack! Thunk!
She pummeled his face and torso. He pushed her away to get a better angle and two extra seconds to hug her to him, trapping her arms. Tipping his chin up to keep her head from thrashing into it, he carried her to the balcony of the master bedroom and shoved her onto the floor of it harder than he wanted. But he needed to buy a few seconds to shut the door and lock it.
“Ian!” She punched and kicked the glass.
He knew it wasn’t going to last very long, so he took angry strides to Chris’s room and threw open the door, shutting and locking it behind him.
Chris glanced up from his book, reclined on the bed.
Chris … rage burned Ian to his very core. That wasn’t even the fucking murderous bastard’s real name.
“She’s screaming, and you’re reading a fucking book. Why is that, Chris?” Ian squinted, tipping his head to the side.
Chris shrugged, marking his spot with a bookmark. “She can take care of herself. You’ll realize this very soon. If your face is any indicator, you probably already know this.”
Ian shook his head, resting his hands on his hips and staring at the ceiling. “How the fuck are you still alive? And why not just turn me in? Why use her? Why tell her this grand lie? So she’d kill me because you’re too fucking weak to try to do it yourself? Why the name? She wouldn’t have known your real name. But it was a nice touch since you’re clearly just trying to fuck with me.”
Chris sat up straighter, easing his legs off the side of the bed. “You … know me?”
Ian returned a pointed look, not amused by the game any longer. No longer curious about Chris’s intentions. He just wanted answers.
Chris pressed his hands to the side of his head, grimacing like something in his head physically hurt. “When did you recognize me? How? Why didn’t you say something? Are you really that fucking heartless? I … I believed you. I believed that it was an accident. But running was wrong. You should have stopped, called for help, but you didn’t. I told you to turn yourself in, but you didn’t. You shed your past, changed your name, and you got all of your goddamn dreams while other people lost everything because of you.”
Ian narrowed his eyes, cocking his head an inch to the side. “Kessler, what are you talk—”
“Kessler!” Chris shot up from the bed, pacing the room. “That’s it! I couldn’t remember your name. I just knew it wasn’t Ian Cooper. Kessler … Kessler?” He snapped his fingers over and over.
“Lockwood,” Ian whispered in disbelief. Speechless because the scene playing out before him was insane. Indescribable.
“Lockwood!” Chris stopped on a gasp, releasing it slowly like he could finally breathe. “Kessler Lockwood …” He closed his eyes. “That’s it.” Opening them, he nodded. “You changed your name.”
Ian cocked his head to the side again, rubbing his forehead while rapidly blinking. For months, he stood guard over his whole fucking life, stood guard over Jersey. For months he wondered if it was real or an act, a cat and mouse game. A bomb with a ticking clock. Was the amnesia real? Ian went to great lengths to hide his past. And for months the man before him wielded the power to expose everything, if he remembered.
The big fucking if.
That if kept Ian from saying a word to Chris—making the first move. That if kept him from telling Jersey. That if kept secrets. That if dictated his future.
Ian had his answer, and there was no if.
“Why does Jersey think I killed Dena and Charles Russell?” Ian asked, numb because he felt certain he knew the answer.
Chris stopped mumbling to himself and glanced up. “Because I told her. When I saw you at the hotel, I remembered you. We were friends. What happened to you? It wasn’t fair of you to ask me to keep that kind of secret. I told you to turn yourself in.” His words began to lose control again as his hands fidgeted, legs paced.
Ian took slow steps toward him, cornering the rabid animal. Chris stopped, making eye contact with Ian while puffing out breaths like someone having a panic attack.