Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 913(@200wpm)___ 731(@250wpm)___ 609(@300wpm)
“I give you the biggest fucking prize this world has to offer, and this is how you treat her?!” my father challenges, cocking back his gun and stepping closer.
Enzo’s men jerk but make no move without his command.
“Untie my daughter. Now,” his chest rumbles with rage.
“She is mine now, is she not?” Enzo speaks evenly. “If I want her tied, tied, she will be.”
Bastian chuckles, but it’s dark and deadly as he tugs on his chains, climbing to his feet, blood seeping from where the metal digs into his flesh on all limbs.
I take a good look at him then, my heart falling to my feet.
He’s in rough shape. Cut and busted all over, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.
I chance a glance at my father, who glares at Bastian before his eyes find mine. They tighten with what can only be regret, his lips flattening as he resigns himself.
“No,” he says, his gaze leaving mine, his voice shaking, the odd sound drawing tears to my eyes. “No, Enzo. She doesn’t belong to you.”
I hold my breath, so fucking confused.
My father jerks his chin, keeping his gun raised at Enzo, and then my father’s guard, Hue, kneels to the ground, and I stare, gaze snapping all around the room and back as he releases Bastian from his restraints with one cautious click at a time.
Bastian shoots to his feet instantly, blood smeared all over him as he brings an elbow back, taking Hue out with one hit, bending and scooping the gun he dropped in a single swift move.
He looks like the walking dead, slow and methodical, red all over as if the shade is simply a part of his skin, like the art decorating it. Skin dangles from his brow, his shoulder is twisted back, and his dark hair hangs in matted strands over his manic eyes.
He walks closer, and my heart beats double time as no less than five guns point his way, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. Despite the gash on his wrist and the mess it’s making, he holds his weapon strong, pointing at Enzo as he offers me his other hand. I eagerly take it with my tied ones, and he hauls me to my feet, untying me without looking or the use of two hands.
Once my wrists are free, he presses against me as I quickly untie the rope at my feet. The second my spine straightens, he cocks his gun, taking slow steps forward until it’s pressed dead center into Enzo’s forehead.
Not a single man makes a move, the room deafeningly silent, and then without taking his gaze off Enzo, his arm jerks to the side, pointing the weapon in the opposite direction.
He pulls the trigger, and my father falls to his knees with a harsh grunt.
Everything happens in slow motion, my eyes flicking wide, a sharp gasp leaving me as I jerk in his direction. Every Revenaw guard in the room now has their weapon trained on Bastian, who stands directly in front of me, his arm wrapped around my waist, keeping me from moving.
“Bastian!” I scream, fighting to see beyond his shoulders, but he keeps me tucked in tight and I punch at his chest.
Pushing up on my toes, peeking over his shoulder, I look beyond him, watching as my father’s hand disappears beneath his suit jacket, coming back stained red.
I tear at his clothing, but his hold doesn’t relent, and finally, our eyes meet. “That’s my dad!” I scream.
Bastian’s eyes turn to icy glaciers as they descend on mine.
“And he disrespected my girl.” He gets in my face with a menacing look as my lower lip trembles, his fingers rising to brush along it. “No one disrespects my girl,” he murmurs, his tone deadly divine. “Anyone else, baby. Not you. This had to happen.”
I swallow my denial, my head ready to explode from all the shit happening around me.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” my father rasps. “I’m not dying today.”
“See,” Bastian whispers, his forehead meeting mine. “He ain’t dyin’ today.”
I should not laugh, but a sob-filled one bubbles out of me anyway because what the actual fuck? He shot my dad … but wasn’t I planning to shoot him myself?
Maybe he does deserve it … as long as he doesn’t die.
“He might die today.”
This comes from a deeper, older voice, and I snap my head toward Enzo, frowning when I realize his men are freeing my friends, my mind catching up to time, noting no one attempted to take Bastian out when he pointed a gun at their boss’s head.
Bastian keeps his arm wrapped tight around my waist as he turns his body, giving me only enough room to twist in his arms so my back is to his chest as we follow Enzo’s movement with our eyes.