Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Damn it. That’s the one thing I hate about allowing myself to get so close to these guys—they see right through me. “Okay, you got me,” I mutter, reaching up for a mug and shoving it under the little spout of the coffee machine. “I heard Cara and Zade get in after The Circle meeting last night, and I couldn’t sleep after that.”
“Why not?” Sawyer asks, striding across to the kitchen and dropping down on one of the stools behind the island.
“I don’t know to be honest,” I say, my gaze focused heavily on the coffee machine. “I think I was just allowing everything to get to me. And I mean, we’re four days out from the ritual. What else could their meeting have been about? They were probably discussing how best to tear my heart out of my body and figuring out what happens after that.”
“They weren’t,” Sawyer says, pressing his lips into a hard line and looking away, reminding me just how much he knows about the inner workings of The Circle, their practices, beliefs, and traditions. Hell, he was supposed to be one of them until Zade came in and ruined it. “A few days out from completing the leadership ritual, they must convene in the sacred tomb and prepare it. They do some fucked-up blood chants and then cleanse the tomb. It’s like a way to farewell the past and prepare for a new rule.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a little better about the situation, though it’s not like it changes anything. I’m still going to become Empire fodder. “You realize this society you all so shamelessly give your loyalty to is the most fucked-up thing . . . like, ever?”
“Believe me,” Easton mutters as Venom circles around his knuckles. “We know.”
Taking my mug, I sip my coffee, feeling their heavy stares on my face. They’re waiting for me to break, so I make my way around the kitchen island and head down to Zade’s room, determined not to waste another day.
Slamming my way through the door, I find Zade fast asleep in his bed, and a smile pulls at my lips. “Rise and shine, asshole,” I announce, watching as his eyes spring open, not caring that he only got a few hours of sleep.
Striding through his room, I stop by the tally on his wall and grab the Sharpie before uncapping it with my teeth to avoid having to put my coffee down. Then with a heavy heart, I add another stroke before taking myself into the closet and finding something comfortable to wear.
Emerging from his room, dressed and ready for anything, I stand out in the impressive penthouse, trying to figure out what the hell I can do to fill my day. Usually by now, Zade has come out and barked orders at us all and told us exactly what terrifying task we’ll be completing to satisfy his sick and twisted desires, yet I stand here with nothing but time on my hands.
My gaze shifts out the big floor-to-ceiling window, and I sigh heavily. I should be trying to figure out how to make the most of my day, or I could be flipping through the pages of the bylaws in Zade’s home office to be sure I haven’t missed anything. Instead, all I want to do is spend hours on end immersed in my drawing.
I’ve always been a whore for charcoal. It’s what I used to do to keep my mind off the world, only since Empire decided to invade my life, I’ve only allowed myself to dabble a handful of times. One of those drawings is now tattooed across Easton’s back. I’m not going to lie, every time he tears his shirt over his head and I see my artwork inked on his skin, it’s one of the greatest feelings in the world. It gets me so worked up.
My fingers itch to create, and with nothing else planned for the day, I take myself off to Zade’s office and search for my charcoal, which is much easier said than done. Zade has an overwhelming need to keep his home tidy. Everything must have a place, and that includes my charcoal. The only problem is, he tends to forget to tell people where those places are.
Finding them in a drawer on his oversized bookshelf, I grin to myself before finding a canvas and taking it out into the living room. In the early hours of the morning, the sun shines right through the living room and the thought of soaking up the warmth is too good to pass up.
Knowing just how messy this can get, I find a bed sheet and lay it across the floor, hoping it isn’t some fancy Egyptian cotton worth more than I could make in a lifetime. I place my canvas on top and step back, wondering what the hell I’m going to draw, but I can’t help but feel underwhelmed.