Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 139870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 699(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 139870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 699(@200wpm)___ 559(@250wpm)___ 466(@300wpm)
Nic killed Charles in response to a threat. He took away my right to privacy when he covered the mansion in cameras. He sent the DeCarlos to our doorstep. He hurt me, dragged me down the stairs, and bruised me over and over again. And then comes the killer; he held a gun on Colton and then pressed it against my temple, demanding that I choose.
I honestly thought there was a good chance that I could have died in that parking garage, but I wasn’t about to lie to myself and tell Nic that I was still his special little girl. I was never going to ride off into the sunset with him and become his little gang wife. Surely, he must have known that. Colton is where my future is. He’s my ride or die … assuming I can get through this and assuming he doesn’t look at me like used goods when he discovers that I’m pregnant with my rapist's baby. He wouldn’t though, he’s too good.
Nic has to go down. There’s no other option. For my sake, for Colton’s sake, and for my unborn child’s sake.
Had anyone suggested such horrors to me six months ago, I would have had them committed. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Nic was capable of all of this, but everyone changes and everyone has their secrets. I nearly killed a rapist who was locked up in a dungeon, and Colton shot a cold-blooded murderer in his kitchen. I guess everyone is capable of shit like this. The question is, how well they can keep it hidden?
I sit in the Wolf Den, cautiously looking around. There are strange men everywhere and not another woman in sight. I feel their eyes on me, watching me as though I’m a cheap stripper who just got invited to the bachelor party. They look at me like a treat, like they’re about to bow down to Russo for bringing me in here for their enjoyment. It sends chills shooting down my spine. I shouldn’t be here. I should have figured out another way.
Russo led me through the door and told me to sit my ass down before walking away, leaving me to fend for myself. That was twenty minutes ago. I never thought I’d utter these words, but I actually preferred him standing by my side. I felt oddly safer though I shouldn’t. I’m sure Russo is worse than them all. His closet would have the worst kinds of skeletons.
The Wolf Den is remarkably similar to the Widows shitty little clubhouse. It has a crappy living area, which is where I am now. There’s a bar filled with everything brown under the sun, the concrete floors have bullet holes and skid marks, while there are at least three smashed windows which have been pathetically boarded up.
This place would be all kinds of fun, you know, if I was a maniac.
I watch everyone with a sharp eye, keeping track of their movements, watching what they’re drinking and who they’re talking to. It’s like a puzzle that I need to work out. It doesn’t pay to be stupid in places like this.
I watch as a man steps through the same door that I'd only just come through. He’s covered from head to toe in tattoos and does everything in his power to look dangerous. His gun is at his hip, being shown off for every motherfucker to see. A nasty, red scar sits under his eye and stretches down to his lip.
He doesn’t look like the kind of guy I want to fuck with. When his eyes come to me, he licks his lips as though he’s about to indulge in an afternoon snack. I have no choice but to make him my business.
I feel the eyes of the Wolves track his movements, and the way they watch him sends my blood cold. These guys are afraid of him and seeing as they’re Wolves, that speaks volumes.
Scarface strides toward me, mentally undressing me. He shoots his hand out, pointing toward the guy behind the bar. “Drink.”
The bartender instantly gets on it, and I swallow hard as he continues coming my way. He steps up close, hovering above me, and I look up at him from where I sit on the lone couch of the living area. “Get up,” he snaps, licking his lips.
I narrow my eyes, more than aware that I need to play this carefully. “I’m not interested in being your little play toy. Get lost.”
He steps closer, and I can feel his heavy boot pressing against my shoes. “I said, get up.”
“Why?”
“Because if I grab you, these fuckers are going to try and stop me. Now, get the fuck up and start walking your ass out back before you cause a scene.”
I laugh, standing to give myself leverage. “You’re fucking insane if you think I’m about to go anywhere with you.” His hand shoots out, and I slap it away with a sharp smack that sounds throughout the whole den. “Keep your dirty fucking hands off me, or I will become your worst fucking nightmare.”