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)
But Braken grunts, and my heart plunges into my stomach.
Shit, where did he get hit? He’s still rolling around but when he stops and shields his face from one of Marco’s blows, he’s sporting a pinched and pained scowl.
It can’t be. I must do something. Anything. But why can’t I move? My legs are shaking and too weak to stand. Mostly because I’m sitting dangerously close to the dead man from where Marco pushed me.
God. I can’t even look at him. Vomit threatens my stomach and throat. I push away from him, trying to ignore his mangled hair and lifeless body. I can still see the way his head ricocheted with Marco’s shot. Feel his warm blood and brains covering my face. Hear the ringing of the gun when Marco pulled the trigger. It shouldn’t have ended like this.
No, it can’t end like this.
Braken risked his life to charge Marco. He could have been just like this man. Could have been flung off the top of the rooftop. Could have gone out protecting me. And honestly, he still can. I don’t know how badly he’s injured, but it means I must act quickly.
Braken headbutts Marco, and when Marco jerks back, he grabs Marco’s wrist and twists. Marco’s gun clatters to the ground uselessly, but when Braken tries to grab it, Marco slams Braken’s back into the rocky rooftop and gets in a clean punch. Braken barely even reacts. He kicks Marco off, forcing a knee into his side so he can get on top.
The gun. A wave of strength washes over me, and I scramble to where it dropped. If I can shoot Marco, I can end this whole thing now. But can I get a shot off without hurting Braken even more? I’m no stranger to guns, but it’s not like I’m some trained sniper. I’m just a rich man’s daughter. I’ll never forgive myself if I fuck up and take Braken’s life.
I stand, the gun warm between my clammy hands. I can’t tell where Braken ends and Marco begins. It’s a flurry of movement. Hands, feet, clothes, hair. It’s a struggle for control, and I’m not sure who’s winning. There’s no good opening for a shot. They roll around like two schoolboys fighting on the playground, but this isn’t some simple spat. This is a fight to the death, and I won’t let Braken be taken from me.
If I can’t shoot at the men, I’ll shoot the air.
I fire the warning shot high, hoping it startles Marco enough for Braken to get his bearings. Well, I thought it was a good idea anyway. But Marco doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he doesn’t even realize I’m there. Fury radiates from his red, sweaty face. If I thought he looked unhinged before, that’s nothing to the twisted, murderous look on his mug now.
More blood coats the ground. Is it Braken’s? Marco’s? Mine? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. I lift the gun again, but this time point it to the space above Marco’s head. The shot splits the air, the bullet burying itself in the concrete.
It’s enough to break Marco’s concentration. When he blinks and looks at me, even for that instant, Braken pounces.
He pushes Marco down, straddling his waist and attacking. Punch after punch after punch. Braken deals blow after blow to Marco’s face, the dull sound of leather on flesh nearly buried by Marco’s gurgled and blood-filled grunts. Even when Marco stops moving, Braken doesn’t let up. He keeps punching like a man driven mad by bloodlust.
I must stop him. It’s the only way I’ll be able to save his life.
“Braken.” My voice is broken, hoarse, more like a frog than a human.
Braken keeps hitting and hitting, Marco’s blood splattering all over his black button-up.
“Braken!” I try again. Still, he doesn’t listen to me.
I drop the gun and throw myself at Braken, squeezing his neck hard to bring him back from the darkness. He tries to fight me, but I hold steady, using what strength I possess to pry him off of Marco. Braken grabs onto my arms and squeezes so tightly I hiss. But I still don’t let go, even when Braken shoulders me to try and get me off.
“Let go, Fiora,” he growls. “I’m going to fucking kill him. He’s dead.”
“You can’t.”
“He put his fucking hands on you!” Braken rages. His face is marred by bruises and blood, his normally perfect hair a blend of dirt and sweat. “He killed your goddamn brother. He doesn’t deserve mercy.”
“He doesn’t, but you do.”
My subdued answer quiets him. He pulls back enough so he can regard me with narrowed eyes. Below him, Marco grunts but barely moves.
“Our story won’t hold up if you’re the one who kills him.” I squeeze Braken’s shoulders in reassurance. “I don’t want this pinned on you.”