Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Scott “Rubix” Killian grinned. “What¸ so you could show me you haven’t changed? That you’re still a pussy?” His long hair was flecked with silver, messy and unkempt. His goatee held blood and dirt. “Or to learn about what I have in store for Cleo once I kill you?”
Every muscle stiffened. “Neither.”
He cocked his head. “I suppose I should be proud that you found me—that you caught us unaware. Fuck, I’m even proud you got one over Sycamore. But then again, why should I be proud of a son that’s always been a disappointment?” He chuckled. “All of this could’ve been pure luck.”
That voice.
It crawled through my veins like a demon.
“Not luck. Years of preparation.” The pain in my side disappeared under a torrent of adrenaline. I looked down briefly, clenching my jaw against the dark blood staining my T-shirt.
“You always were a slow-ass, Arthur. Surprised you’re not wielding a math textbook or that tatty eraser you always carried.” He took a step closer. “They were the only things you were capable of using.”
Glaring at my father, I shrugged out of my cut, dropping it to the floor. The pain increased, sprouting sweat over my brow. “Little do you know.”
I didn’t have a weapon. I’d dropped it when my father’s blade entered my flesh and he’d kicked it across the room.
Your knife!
My hands shot to my belt, unhooking the wicked hunting blade and brandishing it.
In a way, I was glad. A gun would’ve been too quick. Bullets weren’t enough for this asshole.
I hadn’t drawn out my brother’s death. But my father? I would take great pleasure in extracting it.
“Oh, I know more than you think.” Rubix glanced at the red river down my side. “I’ll draw more before we’re through, you’ll see.”
Bunching my fists, I advanced. “I guess we will.”
His eyes widened, as if the memory of his browbeaten obedient son didn’t compute with this pissed off president who’d served time for his sins. He back-stepped, moving toward the center of the room.
Beetle’s corpse filled the space with seething retribution. Tonight, I wouldn’t just kill my father for my sake, but for Mo and Beetle, too.
I have you now. I’m not letting you live another fucking minute.
Rubix ran a hand through his hair, clearing his vision from oily strands. “You really gonna take me on?”
A young girl in a torn nightdress and bruises all over her white skin sat upright in bed. The room was as filthy as the rest of the compound. Magazines scattered over the floor, tissues littered the bedside table, and the sheets looked like only a cockroach would find them sanitary.
“I’ll take you on and win.”
Rubix laughed. “As fucking if. You remember the past, don’t you, boy? You remember the way I handed you your ass every fucking time?”
The girl whimpered, eyes bugging.
I tilted my head at the exit. “Leave.”
I didn’t want an audience and I didn’t want collateral. If my father lost, he wouldn’t hesitate to use her as protection. And I wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if he did.
She scrambled off the bed, eyes dancing between Rubix and me.
Rubix sneered. “Get back into bed, baby.”
“Do as I said and go,” I growled.
Whatever loyalty she had to Rubix quickly vanished. Grabbing a disgusting bathrobe, she darted to the door.
Rubix glared. “Don’t want a piece of pussy, Arthur? You always were a—”
“Were you the one to beat up that girl or just sloppy seconds?” I cut him off, taking another step.
He didn’t back away this time, his bare feet stuck to the floor. He knew as well as I did that there was no more running—for either of us.
He looked older, eviler. His body wiry but soft around the middle. Dressed in low-slung jeans and no shirt, he exposed his Dagger Rose tattoo, which crept around his rib cage, merging with other ink on his chest and arms.
Time hadn’t been kind to him—already making him bent and arthritic. His ink was an ugly faded green, while wrinkles lined his face.
He didn’t look like a worthy opponent, but I’d been on the receiving end enough to not buy the feeble image. He was fucking vicious. He deserved to die.
We circled each other, staying out of punching distance. The knife he’d stabbed me with remained in his fist, dripping with tiny droplets of blood. My blood.
He smirked, unable to hide behind the mask he’d worn all his life. The truth shone: an evil bastard who truly didn’t care about others.
I was doing the world a favor by putting him down.
“What’s to say she didn’t enjoy it? Bit like your piece on the side, eh?” Rubix laughed again. “Buttercup enjoyed her time with us. Didn’t she tell you?”
My heart cracked open.
He’d die a thousand fucking deaths for touching Cleo.
My wound was a strange mix between hot and sticky, cold and damp. I didn’t want the distraction, but at least the injury couldn’t compete with the agony inside my head. My tolerance of pain had increased the past few days—no thanks to him.