Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71832 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
I burst into the apartment after him. The place is a total wreck—Bernie’s couch is slashed open, the kitchen’s torn to pieces, her TV’s busted and knocked onto the carpet. It looks like a hurricane ripped through, and I’m standing around staring when gunshots go off.
Three of them. Bang, bang, bang, in quick succession. I jump in terror, cringing down, covering my ears, but the shooting stops. Only three, and no more.
For an instant, I’m terrified that Carson’s dead. If he’s been shot, if he’s lying on the ground bleeding to death in Bernie’s apartment, I don’t know what I’ll do. But then he’s there in the hallway, staring in at something else, his gun still gripped in his hand.
Bernie appears at my side, staring around with her mouth gaping open. She tries to speak, but nothing comes out. I try to steer her back into the hall but she resists, pushing me away, looking around at the wreckage of her life with a pale and horrified expression.
I move away from her, down toward the bedroom. Carson’s in there now, doing something. I reach the doorway, heart racing. I don’t want to look inside, but I make myself do it anyway.
Carson’s kneeling over a body. The man’s lying near the bed, bleeding from his head and his chest. Blood’s splattered all over the wall. The dead man’s pale, tall, bald, ugly. Carson looks back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. He says something, but I can’t hear him. He says it again, louder this time, standing.
I back away, hands coming up. He moves toward me and I’m about to scream, about to fight, until he stops suddenly, head tilted.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, the words finally registering in my fear-scrambled brain.
“Carson,” I finally manage to say. “What’s happening?”
Then he’s on me, wrapping his big arms around my body and hugging me close. I hug him back, more because I don’t understand any of this. He holds me at arm’s length, staring into my face. “The Polish family sent a hitman after you. He was going to make it look like a home invasion.”
“Fuck,” I say, hands and feet going numb.
“We caught a couple of their guys in a car near here waiting to drive him after the kill. If they hadn’t been so keen to keep their fingers, I don’t know what would’ve happened.”
“They were here, waiting for me.”
His eyes flit to where Bernie’s gaping at us. “Her too. Just because.”
I lean back against the wall, legs turning to mush. I begin to slide down, but he catches me, pulls me to my feet.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper as the realization that nowhere is safe settles in my bones. I thought I was free of all this—it’d been over a month. Iain’s getting ready to be discharged from the hospital. My father’s been buried, I walked away from Carson, the world’s moving on, except the Polish bastards are still coming.
They’ll never let me get away.
“You and Bernie are going to walk downstairs. Fitz is waiting for you there. He’ll take you to the Crowley mansion where you’ll be safe.”
“But I can’t, I don’t, I mean—” I look past him to where the corpse is lying on the ground, blood leaking from its body. “I thought it was over.”
“It’s not, but it will be soon.” He squeezes my arms. “Hey, Ash, look at me. Don’t look at him, look at me.”
My eyes focus on Carson. Handsome, serious Carson. “I don’t want to go.”
“You have to be strong for your friend. Turn around and head downstairs. Bring her with you. I’ll handle all this.”
“There’s a dead man in there. We need… the police…” I trail off, shaking my head.
“Go,” he says gently, nudging me toward where Bernie’s gaping at us.
I take a step on weak knees but manage to keep from toppling over. I head toward where Bernie’s standing, and the closer I get, the surer I am that I need to hold it together for her.
None of this is her fault—the only thing she’s guilty of is being my friend. And here I am, bringing killers into her life, ruining all her stuff, destroying her home, splattering it with blood.
She should hate me. I would hate me.
“Bern.” I take her hands in mine. “Bernie, we gotta go.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Right. We gotta go.”
“He killed someone in the bedroom.”
She groans. “How am I going to sleep in there after this? It’s going to be freaking haunted.”
I squeeze her hands and try not to laugh. What an insane thing to worry about right now. “It’ll be okay. We’re going to Carson’s family house where we’ll be safe, okay?”
“Right, okay.”
“It’s a big, beautiful mansion. You’re going to love it.”
“Will anyone get killed there?”
“Probably not.”
“Then let’s go.”
I lead her to the door. She casts one last look back over her shoulder as if memorizing everything before we head back down the steps. It’s a testament to my willpower that I manage not to trip over my own useless feet on the way.