Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 643(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Hope carried me forward. I pushed through the dancers and tried to think how to get into the door. But a higher power must have figured I was owed a boon—a fight broke out next to the bouncer, and he was drawn into the fray, leaving the door on its latch.
I ran again, using the last of my energy to get through the door. I shut it behind me, hearing the lock click into place, and winced at the bright fluorescent light. My side started to throb with more intensity, and as I looked down, I noticed blood seeping from my side. I’d been stabbed? I didn’t remember being stabbed. Had it happened in the stairwell when they had beaten me? I thought I had blacked out …
Feeling light-headed, I rushed down the corridor. I passed a storeroom door, but there were no offices. I climbed a set of stairs at the end of the hallway, praying I would make it to the top before collapsing. Muffled voices came from behind one of the doors. I climbed the steps, trying to ignore the pain slicing through my ribs, the swelling of my lips and the energy that seemed to be draining more and more by the second.
When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw Arthur’s name on one of the doors and headed in that direction. The voices grew louder as I approached. My hand fell on the doorknob and I turned it, managing to throw the door open. There was a flurry of activity around me, but I didn’t pay it any attention. All I saw was the man behind the desk. A man in a designer suit, with dark hair and bright blue eyes shining behind black-framed glasses.
And despite everything, I felt relief flood me, bringing me light. In this moment, seeing Arthur was as powerful as seeing Christ himself.
I reached my hand toward him and whispered, “Arthur … I’ve found you … I’ve finally found you …”
Then I closed my eyes and succumbed to the dark.
Chapter Seven
ARTHUR
I shot up from my seat and moved around my desk, pushing it the fuck out of my way. Charlie, Eric, Vinnie and Freddie had their guns out and targeted on Cheska the minute she bust through the door. I bent down, rolled her over and saw blood pouring onto her dress. She was knocked out, her lip split and her cheek bruised, but fuck, even in this state she was fucking beautiful. But her injuries … her fucking injuries …
Fire flared inside me. Someone had hurt her. Someone had fucking hit her. I ripped the dress in two to find a stab wound in her side. “Ring the doctor. Have him come to my house,” I ordered Charlie and lifted Cheska into my arms.
I had fucking Cheska Harlow-Wright in my arms again.
I hadn’t seen her in over a year, and now she was in my motherfucking arms, bleeding out and beaten to a bastard pulp. “Call the fucking driver to the back exit,” I instructed Eric as I burst into the corridor and raced down the stairs. I heard footsteps following behind me.
“Cheska? This is the bird you were fucking all that time?” Eric asked. I ignored him and rushed to the back exit, kicking it open with my foot. The car was already there. I climbed inside and held her in my arms.
“Home. And fucking get us there quick!” I ordered, and the driver skidded out onto the main road. I pushed back dark brown hair from Cheska’s face and studied her cuts and bruises. A strange, fucked-up kind of ache ripped at my chest as I saw her swelling lip and the wound at her side. My sternum ached like I was feeling something. Like I fucking cared. But I’d stopped caring about everything a long time ago. All I felt these days was rage and revenge and the need to tear down any fucker that got in my way.
I pressed my hand against her side to try and stop the bleeding. Her blood was hot against my hand, and her breathing was steady but hollow. Cheska didn’t wake up as I touched her. She was fucking out for the count.
I’d seen enough stab wounds in my time to know it wasn’t deep, but she was losing blood; that much was clear.
“Faster,” I said to the driver. I pressed down harder on her wound and felt something pull in my gut. My jaw clenched as it hit me again, like a fucking crowbar to my stomach.
Cheska. Bloody Cheska Harlow-Wright. She’d always been able to do this shit to me. Her stunning face, her body that I always fucking craved, and those dual-coloured eyes that drew me the fuck in.
“Princess, what the fuck?” I said against her cheek and held her tighter. Her tits were on show since I’d ripped her dress from her. She hadn’t been wearing a bra. I glanced at the driver. His attention was on the road, but a wave of possessiveness took me over. I didn’t want any fucker to see her like this. Only me. Only I ever looked at her tits and body this way.