Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79137 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
But all that faded to the background as I came to stop in front of the door, the copper number eight hanging loosely by the bottom nail, making the whole thing upside down.
My breath pulled in through my nose, expanding my chest to the point where it was almost painful as my arm lifted and my fist knocked four times, hard enough to make the eight jump ominously.
There was nothing for a long minute, not a single sound other than the aforementioned TVs and music and the low hum of male voices across the hall.
But then I heard something slam followed by a muffled curse.
The chain slid.
The door pulled.
And there she was.
I thought I understood anger before.
I thought I had felt it on and off over the years, most especially at the universe for the shit it had done to good people, people who didn't deserve it.
But I had no idea.
Not a single clue.
Because the way my blood instantly heated, so scalding that I was sure if a match was lit anywhere within a mile radius, I would explode from the inside out; the way my stomach contracted and didn't ease up; the way my hands instinctively curled into fists; the way my teeth clenched together hard enough to shoot pain down my jaw.
They were all concrete proof that I had never been truly, all-consumingly angry before.
But standing there, looking down at a woman who meant more to me than I knew it was possible to, especially in such a short period of time, and seeing that someone, some fucking coward piece of shit excuse for a man raised his hands to her perfect face and left damage in the wake, yeah, I knew rage for the first time in my entire goddamn life.
Her eye was swollen, the skin tight and pink down to the top of her cheekbone. There was a bright, deep, vivid blue and purple bruise completely framing the underside of her gorgeous fucking brown eye. And last but certainly not fucking least, the white part of her eye was a hideous, bright, godawful red.
Subconjunctival hemorrhage.
I'd gotten enough of them from the trauma of the ring at Hex to know exactly what it was when I saw it, to know it looked a lot worse than it was, to know that in four or five days it would be all but gone.
But I also knew the only way it happened was trauma.
Trauma.
Whoever the fuck they were, wherever the fuck they were, I was going to find them. I was going to rip their fucking balls off with my bare hands and shove them down their goddamn throats for putting their hands on what was mine.
I swallowed hard at that, determination allowing my hands to unclench, my breath to return, my blood to cool.
They would be dealt with.
Cooly and detachedly.
But mother fucking inevitably.
Just not before I got the story.
Not before I got my woman in my arms and told her no one was ever going to hurt her a-fucking-gain.
"Lazarus?" Her voice was wobbly, uncertain. And, if I wasn't mistaken, scared.
Scared.
Of me?
Of them?
My hand reached for my pocket, finding my cell and pressing a button.
"Yeah?" That was Reeve, sounding annoyed, likely having gotten an earful like we already had at the duplexes.
"Found her."
I hung up on that and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
"Sweetheart, what the fuck?"
TWELVE
Bethany
It was supposed to be Erica.
She lived in the apartment right beside the elevator and when the doors slid open to reveal me to her- face battered, cheeks streaming with tears, silent sobs making my body shake oddly as I tried to hold it as much together as I could until I got behind a closed door- a task made impossible by the fractured feeling in my chest- she was standing there trying to sling her giant hobo bag purse up onto her shoulder.
Erica was tall and wide with kind green eyes and purple scrubs.
Erica was a home healthcare provider for the elderly, a job that was forever in-demand but paid dirt, hence her living in our shitty apartment building.
"Oh, girl," she exhaled on a sigh, shaking her head. Her arms reached out, her strong hands landing on my shoulders and pulling me forward out of the elevator, crushing my body to her much softer one, her arms going around me. And it was so familiar, so maternal, that another stab of pain worked its way through my chest and the sobs came out- wild and uncontrollable.
"I have brothers," she said a long time later after I cried through the thin, soft material of her scrub top. "Give me his name and I will have them make sure he learns his lesson."
That made another rush of tears stream down my face.
First Lazarus. Now Erica.
I didn't deserve all the goddamn goodness.
I wasn't some innocent woman who had a man raise his hands to her.