Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
As if that was any kind of excuse.
As if there was ever a good reason to put your hands on a woman.
Any woman.
But he was going to wish he’d never put his hands on mine.
I mean, he would only regret it for twenty minutes or so. Before he wasn’t fucking breathing anymore.
“Shouldn’t have brought her into your shit,” I said, tone dead, as I reached down, grabbing the front of his shirt, and yanking him up by it, only to knock his head back into the wall with a satisfying crack.
Then my hand was raising, my fist colliding.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
More.
So many more.
So many that I couldn’t really make out a face when some of the haze cleared from my vision.
My arm fell to my side, heavy and aching.
But, somehow, despite the damage, the bastard was still breathing.
I was done, though.
Most of the anger purged, I just wanted to get back to Nyx, to get her help, to tell her it was going to be okay, that I would do whatever it takes to make sure nothing ever happened to her again.
So I yanked him back, then slammed him hard enough against the wall that there was no way he could survive it.
I dropped him, watching his body fall, lifeless, to the ground, curled in a grotesque position.
I’d have to come back and deal with him.
Later.
Once Nyx was safe and healing and full of some pain medicine.
With that, I turned and ran back down the street, finding Nyx huddled in the back of Cillian’s car.
She looked worse than I remembered.
“She wouldn’t go without you,” Cillian said.
“It’s… handled,” I said, nodding toward the abandoned building.
“Then let’s go,” he said, getting in the front while I slid into the back with Nyx, pulling her into my side.
“Everything hurts,” she admitted in the smallest voice I’d ever heard as her head touched my arm.
“We are going to fix that,” I assured her, wanting to hold her, but terrified of touching somewhere tender. She was a walking bruise, and judging by the way she winced and tensed and curled a bit as the car hit a pothole, I was worried about her ribs.
Cillian rushed ahead after we parked in front of Dr. Price’s place, banging on the door as I tried to extract Nyx from the backseat as carefully as possible.
By the time I had her on the front path, Dr. Price was in the doorway, hair disheveled from sleep, but eyes clear. Clear enough to look furious.
“Nyx.” He breathed her name out, full of worry and pain for her, reminding me again that some men were just built different. Full of empathy and concern, even for people they barely knew.
“I think something is up with her ribs,” I told him as I took most of her weight as she went up the steps.
“I’m okay,” she said.
“You’re not,” Cillian and I said in unison as we followed a silent Dr. Price into one of the exam rooms.
“It wasn’t him,” Nyx said when Cillian excused himself to the waiting room, leaving the three of us in the exam room with an angry-looking Dr. Price.
Dr. Price’s gaze went from her face to my knuckles, then back up, giving me a nod.
He’d never say it.
He was a man who lived life on the straight-and-narrow, who didn’t get involved with dirty shit.
But that nod told me that he knew what I’d done. And that while he wouldn’t get his own hands dirty, he approved.
How could he not?
Looking at Nyx in the stark fluorescent lighting only made anger bubble up again, making me want to run back across town, revive that bastard, and go a few more rounds with him.
“What hurts the most?” Dr. Price asked, trying to decide where to start.
“Everything everywhere all at once,” Nyx said, letting out a pathetic whimper.
There was a knock at the door, prompting me to move in that direction, opening it to find Cillian there, holding out a bottle of prescription pills. “Conor had a broken hand earlier this year. He never finished his pills. Pharmacy is closed,” he added at my blank look.
“Right. Thanks,” I said, taking it, hearing the low voices of Dr. Price and Nyx.
“Make her take it. I know she has issues because of her mom, but make her.”
“I will,” I said, nodding, then closing the door.
“How attached are you to this shirt?” Dr. Price asked. “I don’t want you raising your arms if it hurts that much,” he clarified.
“I can get another one,” Nyx said, her one eye that wasn’t swollen mostly shut looking small and pained and tired.
With that, Dr. Price cut her shirt off up the front, making the smattering of bruises across not only her ribs but her midsection clear for the first time.
I didn’t even realize I’d let out a growl until Nyx shot me a half smile and Dr. Price nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked as his hands poked around. “Do you feel any pressure in your chest when you inhale?” he asked.