Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
There’s a reason I’m still alive, and it’s to make sure Mason gets his revenge.
Gravel crunches somewhere below us, and when Marco turns to look, I take my chance. I sprint toward the stairs behind me as fast as I can. Freedom is right at my fingertips, but I don’t make it into the stairwell before Marco grips my hair. My scalp screams when he jerks me back, and I collide with his chest with a painful grunt. He wraps his arm around my neck and squeezes so tightly that I choke. I scratch at his arms, flailing and fighting for my life, but it’s no use.
“Oh, come on, Fiora.” His rough voice next to my ear makes me shiver. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”
“I’m not,” I gasp, clutching onto his sleeve and tugging so I can get some air. My head hurts so badly, and it’s barely enough to breathe, but I’m not dead yet.
“Well, if that’s the case.”
Marco drags me toward the edge of the parking garage, cool autumn wind whipping at my cheeks. God, is this the end for me? It’s a shitty end if so. Thrown off the edge of an abandoned parking garage to rot all weekend before being found. All because I trusted—and frankly loved—the wrong person for years. Tears burn my eyes, cascading down my cheeks as I stare down death. I always knew death would come for me early, but I’m not ready to die at this asshole’s hand.
“You won’t get away with this,” I try next as my last resort. “My DNA is all over your car.” Under my fingernails and in my pocket, too.
“See, that’s the thing, Fiora. I will. Because I’m not killing you. You’re killing yourself.”
“What?”
Marco jerks me forward, nearly dangling me off the side of the garage. It looks so far down. I’m dizzy with the height and slow supply of oxygen. There isn’t a soft place to land anywhere. It’s all jagged concrete, broken pieces of flooring and piping, and so much gravel. God, it’s going to hurt. Maybe the Devil will have mercy on me and kill me in one go.
“Grief is a very strong emotion,” Marco muses. “Between announcing an engagement you don’t want and losing your brother, it was too tough on you. You couldn’t bear it anymore. I tried to stop you, I really did. But you fought me so hard, I had to pull over here, and by then, it was too late.”
Fuck me, he has the perfect coverup story already. And with no evidence to push back against his bullshit story, he’s going to get away with it. How long has he been planning this? I struggle against him even harder, but his arm only tightens, cutting off my air for good.
“See how easy it is? You should thank me, you know. I saved you from—”
I don’t know what the fuck he “saved” me from, because his sentence is cut off with a pained grunt. We both go flying to the concrete, and someone elbows me so hard in the stomach I’m breathless. One of my legs hangs off the edge of the parking garage, and I push myself back, gasping and sputtering for breath. My lungs and throat burn, vision fuzzy from the lack of oxygen.
Two shadows roll around on the ground next to me, moving so fast I can’t tell who is who. Is it Braken? Has Braken come for me? When I catch my breath and my eyes focus, I look up to see who it is.
Too late.
The gunshot cuts the air, and warm blood splatters all over my face and neck.
Chapter 39
Braken
Bang.
I stop walking halfway up the third-floor stairs.
I’m no stranger to gunshots, both triggered by my hand or buried deep within my body. I still have a shell casing in my side from a firefight a few years back.
But I am a stranger to the sick feeling of dread that seizes my legs and lungs.
Fuck. Whose gunshot was it?
And who the fuck is hurt?
As soon as we pulled into the lot, I sent Jasper ahead. We lost sight of Marco on the highway, but I knew deep within my soul where he was going. The gas leak isn’t a coincidence. Marco set that up so he could be alone with Fiora on my damn property. And the answer is clear why: he’s setting me up. The question is, for what? Battery? Death?
Murder?
Now that his meal ticket is gone, Marco Pollozo has completely lost it. Plenty of men fall victim to the Godwins’ and other dangerous, powerful families’ flashy lifestyles. Who wouldn’t? Money, power, girls, drugs, weapons. All of it sounds enticing until you’re staring down the barrel of a gun because you fucked the wrong man’s third bitch. You become just another body buried beneath the cement blocks of a new hotel.