Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90919 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
He’d had her for almost two days.
“Go,” Aisling whispered shakily, her hands clenched into fists on top of the table. “Please, please, please.”
Footsteps sounded, growing closer, and I quickly stepped to the side so I wouldn’t be seen as he got closer.
The man, Julian, stepped into the room in a white T-shirt and sweatpants, his feet bare. He looked like any other regular douchebag enjoying the weekend if you didn’t notice the revolver dangling loosely in his hand.
The next few seconds happened in flashes when I remembered it later. He paused just inside the room staring at Aisling, but must’ve noticed something off because he turned toward me almost immediately. I moved so fast, he only had time to raise his arm halfway before I punched him in the face and swung the knife at his belly. I’d never been so glad to be equally dominant with both hands as I grabbed at his arm and stabbed him once, twice, a third time. Fast and efficient.
The gun clattered to the floor as he dropped. Then I realized that he was laughing.
The motherfucker had laughed the entire time. It was unsettling, to say the least.
“You’ve got no clue who you fucked with,” he slurred, grinning at me. “No clue.”
I kicked him in the ribs.
He grunted at the impact but kept laughing. Jesus. The dude was nuts.
“Come on,” Aisling said, stumbling to my side. “Let’s go. Let’s go.”
“You fuckin’ kiddin’?” I asked in surprise, pulling my phone out. “I’m callin’ the cops.”
It wasn’t my first choice, in my line of work, we generally tried to steer clear of the police. But I was a day’s ride from my club, Aisling clearly wasn’t a willing guest, and I knew the law. I wasn’t going to get in any shit for going in to save her. I’d get jammed up for a minute, but they’d eventually have to let me go. Plus, the cops were already all over finding whoever had shot Richie, and the motherfucker was laying at my feet. They’d figure that shit out eventually. It was better to get ahead of it than for them to find him bled out on his kitchen floor with my sister’s DNA probably all over the house.
“You can’t,” she said, pulling at my arm as the guy laughed louder. “Trust me.” Her fingers dug into my bicep. “Please. We have to go now.”
I stared at her for a moment before nodding.
Fuckhead Julian was lying in a pool of his own blood, he wouldn’t even be able to crawl toward her—but Aisling wasn’t any less scared than the moment I’d found her. Something else had her spooked. It didn’t make any sense, but I’d learned to listen to my gut.
It was telling me to get her the fuck out of there and ask questions later.
While Aisling grabbed her purse, shoes, and coat, I grabbed a kitchen towel off the counter. I wiped my prints off the doorknob, picked up the revolver and threw it in the hot tub, then used the towel to clean my knife and hands. By the time we got out front, it was folded into a neat square that I stuffed into my saddlebags.
“Can you stay on?” I asked quietly as I helped my baby sister onto the back of my bike. She was moving carefully, and with every wince, I fought with the urge to go back inside and finish what I’d started.
“I’m good,” she said, settling herself. “Hurry.”
Aisling tucked her head between my shoulder blades as I backed out of the driveway and didn’t lift it again until we pulled into the parking lot at the hospital. I hadn’t had a chance to text anyone, so I was surprised to see Ronan hurrying toward us as I parked.
“You got her,” he called out in relief. Aisling lifted her head, and Ronan stumbled to a stop. “Jesus, Ash.”
“Take me home,” Aisling ordered, looking around. “Take me home right now.”
“Not happenin’,” I replied. “Get off.”
“No,” she said, her arms tightening around my waist.
“Ronan,” I barked.
Seconds later, Ronan was dragging our sister off the back of my bike while I held it steady. Aisling knew how to scrap, but she was no match for Ronan, and he got away from the bike in seconds. When I climbed off and looked at them, she was standing perfectly still in his arms, and his pale face was stark against her tangled hair.
“Richie’s the same, but cops are upstairs,” Ronan told me. “I came down to get some space.”
“Richie’s alive?” Aisling asked, her legs going out from under her.
“For now,” Ronan replied slowly. “Not sure which way it’s gonna go.”
“How?” Aisling asked in confusion.
“Someone called 9-1-1 in time, I guess.”
I couldn’t focus on Richie yet. I needed to take care of a few things first. Keeping my steps even and steady, I went over to my saddlebags, pulled out the towel, brought it to the garbage can a few parking spaces away, and reached in to stuff it inside a fast-food bag. When I turned back toward my siblings, Ronan’s eyes were wide.