Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Kristen tenses and takes hold of my hand. “You don’t remember what happened?”
Bits. Flashes. Fragments.
“Just that we were taken from our beds and I got a whack to the head.”
“Ronan…” She squeezes my hand and sighs. “They set the big house on fire. Your mom and the baby were still inside. I’m sorry.”
The fire.
Flames, hot and intense. Ruining and taking and destroying.
Her words sting, just a prick at first, but then a thousand pricks stab at me all over as I digest her words, reality finally setting in. “W-What?”
No.
Please, God, no.
My chest tightens to the point I can’t breathe. The blurry trees around me spin until I lose my balance. I fall hard to the ground on my palms and knees, nipping my tongue in the process. As the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth, I try to compute her words.
Your mom and the baby were still inside.
Fire.
I’m sorry.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be fucking happening.
“My dad too?”
A small sigh escapes Kristen. “I’m sorry, Ronan.”
“Is he….”
“Gone. He’s gone.”
A cry explodes out of me. It’s filled with pain and agony as my heart is ripped from my chest.
These people killed my family.
Did they kill my brothers Ryder and Rowdy?
The answer is too much to bear and one I can’t fathom.
They should have just killed us too.
* * *
* * *
I’m helpless and at a loss for what to do.
They took them.
They took our family.
Rowdy, Wild, and Chet have been trying to contain the spread of the fire from the big house so that we don’t lose more than we already have. I think Wild’s more pissed about his truck being stolen than anything, which is why it’s a good thing I’m not around him. If I saw him try to catch a signal on his phone one more time this morning, I was going to punch him.
Rowdy, sensing my impending meltdown, tasked me with staying with our parents and tending to their injuries, especially Dad’s.
Mom, who finally got Dawson to calm down, fell asleep beside Dad in Ronan’s bed. I’ve been working on cleaning and dressing all of Dad’s wounds. He looks as though he’s been chewed up and spat out. The skin all over his back and legs has been rubbed off, he has defensive knife wounds all over his hands and forearms, and his face is so swollen he can’t see out of his eyes. If it weren’t for his ragged breathing, I’d think he were dead.
But he’s not dead.
They tried to take my father from me but were unsuccessful.
Dad groans when I tie off one of the stitches on his forearm, tugging a little too hard. The only pain medicine we have is a bottle of ibuprofen I found in Ronan’s bedside table drawer. I wish I could give him more, but the big house is gone.
Everything and everyone is gone.
Even the goddamn wolf pups are gone. I haven’t had an opportunity to search for them, but I’m afraid when I finally do, I’ll find their discarded corpses. As soon as the fire is contained and Dad has been taken care of, we’ll have to do something with all the bodies those motherfuckers left behind.
My mind tries to drift to my missing siblings, but I force it from my head. Helping Dad is the most important thing right now for me to focus on.
I’m thankful for the extra first aid kit we keep in the workshop. Too many times one of us has hurt ourselves there, so having immediate access to bandages was a necessity. I blew through most of the supplies cleaning and dressing Dad’s back and legs but saved some for the more critical wounds on his hands.
He groans again when I straighten out one of his pinkies. It’s swollen and misshapen. I’m not sure if it’s broken or not. The main concern is all the skin missing across the top knuckles. Keeping it clean and free of infection is the priority. Setting bones, if necessary, will come later.
The insidious wrath burning inside me, begging for escape, is continuous torture. I crave to rage and destroy something—anything—to release some of it. But now isn’t the time for that shit.
Dawson whimpers in his sleep and Dad stirs. He’s been unconscious since I got that rope off his neck. I can’t begin to imagine what sort of pain he’s in.
I spend hours caring for him until I’m nodding off while sitting up. It’s not until I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder that I realize I completely fell asleep. Popping my eyes open, I discover Mom standing beside me. She’s changed from her bloody, burned nightclothes into something of Raegan’s that was in Ronan’s cabin. Dad and Dawson are both still passed out.
“Go get some sleep, honey,” Mom croaks, her voice barely a whisper. “Find something to eat and drink first.”