Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“I don’t understand.”
Yeah. You understand. And now you’ll understand what it means to be afraid.
“I’m assuming you’re planning to shoot me in the back of the head,” I said, forcing myself to stay calm. “That’s a bad idea. You shoot that close, you’ll be all covered in blood spatter. Means you’ll risk tracking more evidence out of the house or taking time to clean up. Either way, complicates things.”
That clear enough for you, bitch?
She pulled out the gun slowly, raising it carefully to aim at my head. Little idiot. A gun like that wasn’t exactly a sniper’s weapon. Even at this close range, she should be going for the biggest target—my chest.
“Go ahead, do it,” I said, smirking at her. I wanted to scare her. Hurt her. Make her pay for not trusting me … “Show me what you’re made of.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and those tears building in her eyes started spilling out, running down her cheeks. Behind her I saw Horse step up quietly, waiting. Puck and Bam Bam would be in the kitchen, and I knew they’d do whatever I needed, up to and including disposing of London’s body for me. “You’ll never know how much I wish this weren’t happening.”
“Then don’t do it,” I told her, catching and holding her gaze because I’m a fucking fool. Even now I’d forgive her if she just opened her mouth and told me what was going on. Trusted me. “Whatever it is, we can work through it. I’ll help you.”
“You can’t …”
I sighed, because that was it. Over. Goddamn waste, tryin’ to connect with a woman. Heather had been one in a million—I’d already had my time.
Fuck it.
I gave Horse a tip of my chin, letting him know wordlessly that I’d had enough of this shit. London would have to pay for what she’d done, which was just too fuckin’ bad. That’s what you get for tryin’ to kill the man you’re sleepin’ with.
“It’s over, babe,” Horse said. I saw shock all over her face, but I had to admit, the bitch had balls, because she pulled the damn trigger.
I sighed again as Horse reached around the woman I’d fallen for, grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard as he threw her down on the table face-first. London dropped the gun, crying openly. I stood and strolled over to her, dropping down on my haunches to study her. Her eyes caught mine, expression full of pain and despair.
Appropriate, because she was well and truly fucked.
“You’d really benefit from one of the handgun classes down at the gun shop,” I told her quietly. “Learn all kinds of good stuff there. For instance, they’d teach you to check and make sure nobody’s tampered with your weapon when it’s out of your control. They’d also teach you to check and make sure it’s loaded.”
She closed her eyes and bit her lip.
I’m a sick bastard, because the sight of her laid out on that table, held down and crying? That should’ve bothered me. It turned me on, though. Even now I wanted to fuck her.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. Horse shot me a glance, and I considered the question.
“Haven’t decided yet,” I finally admitted. “First we’re going to get information from you. I’d suggest you cooperate, because otherwise we’ll have to convince you, and the fact that you’ve been in my bed isn’t going to help you out of this.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. The life had gone out of her completely … But just when I wondered if she’d roll over and die, she opened them again, forcing herself to reengage.
“You need to know something,” she said quietly.
“Yeah?” I asked, waiting for her to start going on about love or some other bullshit, trying to save her ass.
“They have Jessica.”
“Yeah, we kind of figured that out,” I told her, my voice dry. “Forgive me if I don’t give a shit. I don’t care why a person tries to kill me. I’m all about the end result.”
“Jessica is going to die if she doesn’t get help,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm. “Like, help in the next twenty-four hours. She’s got a shunt, Reese. Born with hydrocephalus.”
“The fuck?” Horse asked, frowning at me.
“Water on her brain,” London said. “Her cerebrospinal fluid doesn’t drain right, which means she has a little tube running down from her skull through her neck to drain the fluid. If that tube gets blocked or infected, she’s dead. Head trauma is particularly dangerous for people with shunts—I watched them throw her down. Her head hit the concrete and then she had a seizure. I know I messed up, and it was wrong to try to shoot you, Reese. But please—if you have any mercy at all—please try to find a way to help her. It’s over for me and I’m fine with that, but you have children. You’d do anything to keep them alive, wouldn’t you? Please …”