Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Jesus fuck,” Lock stalked ten feet away, gripped his hair and growled. “We gotta get the fuck in there. Now.”
Spec nodded. “I’ll take out the guard at the back door. Lock, you and Jinx will take the upstairs. Tracker, you’re out here on watch. Ty and I will head down to search the basement. You all have flexi cuffs. Incapacitate and hogtie whoever you come across. No exceptions. Pulse, I want you to come downstairs too. I have no idea who or what we’re gonna find. We might need medical attention.”
“I’m ready.” He nodded once.
“Lock?” Spec asked.
“Ready.” So fucking ready.
He glanced around at the men in his club, armed to the hilt and ready to do battle on his behalf, no matter what he’d done in the past.
Why?
Because it’s what family did.
It was all true. Everything Brenna said. Everything his therapist tried to pound into his head for months. This club was family, not just in lip service but in cold, hard reality. They’d loved him, and they’d fight for him, but they’d also call him on his bullshit when needed, as he’d do for them. And if one of them fucked up as he had after Deanna’s death, he wouldn’t cast them out. He’d help them as they helped him. It’d taken this extreme event to drive the point home, but he got it now.
His arms tingled with the anticipation of holding Brenna again. Whatever had happened, whatever she’d endured, he was prepared to help her heal. A calm clarity settled over his mind, chasing away the usual doubt that lived there. For the first time since Deanna died, Lock felt strong and capable. He had the tools to give Brenna what she needed. He could do anything with the growth he’d made and his family by his side.
“Ready your weapons,” Spec ordered as though commanding troops.
Lock killed the safety on his pistol.
“Let’s go get Lock’s woman.”
Fuck yes.
As a unit, they marched toward the club, ready to fuck shit up.
“GET ON THE bed.”
The queen-size bed in the center of the room with its stark white sheets and disturbing restraint rings on the headboard.
This was it. The moment Kelsie warned her about where she’d cautioned Brenna not to fight. She’d claimed it’d turn out so much worse.
But she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t in the same headspace as Kelsie yet. She had to fight. Even if it made the torture a hundred times crueler. Maybe she’d regret it later, but at least she’d know she didn’t accept her fate lying down.
“Fuck you,” she said, still on the floor.
Wilson—she’d rather die than add the mister—laughed. He bent over and grabbed her chin in an unforgiving hold. It felt as though he was trying to crush her jaw in his fist. “Pretty little girls shouldn’t say such ugly words.”
She spit right between his eyes.
Punishment was swift and harsh. He kicked her side with the pointy tip of his shiny dress shoe. The force of the kick wrenched her chin from his hands and sent her flying into the wall. He came at her again, grabbing a fistful of her damp hair and yanking her to her feet.
Brenna screamed and grabbed his hands. Her nails sunk into his flesh. She raked them across his skin, tearing into him. The feel of his skin gathering under her nails sent satisfaction soaring through her. He cursed and dropped her. She hit the ground hard and scrambled away as fast as she could, pushing to her feet when she had some distance between them.
Relief didn’t last long. Wilson wasn’t a huge man, but he had at least six inches and seventy pounds on her. He pounced, grabbing the front of her dress and slamming her into the wall. Her head hit with a hard smack that made the room spin. Wilson took advantage of her disorientation, hitting the side of her face with a closed fist.
The pain was extraordinary. Something split. Her cheek, her lip, she couldn’t tell because the pain encompassed every part of her head, but blood ran down onto her white dress.
Wilson tsked. The asshole loved making those disappointed sounds, as though she really was a child. “Now look what you did,” he said, staring at the blood on her ruined dress.
“Good.”
He reached for her, and she tried to swat him away, but her head swam, and her vision wasn’t right. He grabbed the front of the dress again. Brenna lashed out. She must have gotten lucky and hit something because he cursed and grabbed for his nose.
She tried to run, but he caught her with a fist to the stomach that had her doubling over with a breathless scream.
Wilson grabbed her arms and flung her toward the bed. She landed face down with a bounce.
Move, move, move.
She crawled forward, grabbing the bedding for leverage. If he got on top of her, she was screwed.