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)
Fuck. This isn’t going to be easy, but I have to try.
The sooner she comes to, the sooner Zade’s mom is bound to get the show on the road, and I’m dreading every fucking second of it. But for now, I’m content with Santos using me for target practice because each hit that I take is one less that she won’t have to.
Closing my eyes, I let my body go limp as I hang from the chains, needing this time to regroup and conserve what little energy I have left. I have no doubt these assholes are going to try and take out Oakley and when they do, I’ll be ready.
Bringing me here with them was the biggest mistake they ever made. More so, putting us in the same fucking dungeon.
My gaze shifts to Venom in the corner of the room, itching for her to come back to me, but she’s safer where she is, out of sight, out of mind. She fell out of my clothes when my shirt was ripped off my body. Apparently Santos likes to see the scars he’s left on someone. Sick bastard.
With Venom doing alright where she is, I close my eyes again, taking slow, deep breaths until I hear the sound of the heavy metal lock on the door sliding out of place. My eyes snap open, my gaze shifting to Oakley’s face, hoping like fuck she’s still out.
Finding Oakley still unconscious, I let out a heavy breath before focusing my stare on the door as Santos strides in, a smug-as-fuck grin on his face and a baseball bat firmly in his hand.
Fuck. Where the hell is Dalton when you need him? That fucker would happily stand here and take Santos’ abuse. Hell, he’d even like it and ask for more. His father messed him up good. The violence is like a drug to him, but for some reason, since Oakley came running head-first into our lives, he hasn’t actively been seeking that thrill. I think she’s healing him in some way, something we’ve all been trying to do for years.
I brace myself for whatever’s about to come, a little disappointed that he couldn’t find it within himself to even give me twenty minutes reprieve before coming back for more. He must be thirsty for it. Sick fucks like Santos always are. They don’t kill out of necessity, they kill for sport. Though I have to admit, the power that fills my veins as I watch someone’s life drain from their eyes is the best high I’ve ever felt. Up until meeting Oakley, I would spend my days craving that rush, but not anymore. Now, all I crave is sinking into her sweet cunt, pushing her to her limits, and watching her beautiful face as she comes on my cock. Hell, my cock, fingers, or tongue. I’ll take them all.
To lose that . . . fuck. I’d be a broken man.
Santos looks over Oakley, and judging by the scowl on his face, he’s not impressed to find her still out cold, and I’m sure if he had a bucket of ice water, she’d be drenched in it by now. He lifts the baseball bat and rams the end of it into her ribs, rocking her on the chains, but she doesn’t budge, doesn’t make a single sound as I grit my teeth, knowing exactly what would happen to her if I were to speak out.
He drops the tip of the bat back to the ground before begrudgingly turning his stare on me. He looks at me like a piece of shit he just stood in and can’t seem to shake off the bottom of his boot.
Santos takes one step after another, dragging the metal bat that I have no doubt is about to break a rib or two. “Easton Cross,” he spits, looking me up and down. “You should have done yourself a favor and let one of my men take you out in the parking garage, but just like your father, you don’t know when to fucking quit.”
My father? Great. This asshole thinks punishing me is somehow going to even whatever bullshit score he needs to settle with my father. If only he knew that my father doesn’t give a single fuck about me. This isn’t settling any score, this is only bringing him another problem, one I fully intend to make right.
Santos rears back with the bat and I brace, taking the hit right across my ribs, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of screaming out in pain, not even a single grunt. “I worked with your old man three years ago,” he tells me as though I actually give a shit. “He was my best fucking client. Sick bastard he is.”
“My father is a piece of shit,” I murmur, keeping my stare trained on him, all too aware of the work Santos used to do for him, and honestly, it was sloppy at best. “Makes sense that he’d align himself with scum like you. Perfect match. Tell me, did it get you off sucking his dick every night?”