Total pages in book: 165
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
A laugh bubbles up from my stomach so deep there’s no sound as I shake. “He can’t fucking get it up,” I taunt.
He shoves me down and grips my throat, digging his fingers in, and I fight not to squeeze my eyes shut. He can’t tell how badly my body is shaking in the struggle.
I work the tie again and again. Come on. Please.
“Is it happening yet?” I force out at the top of my lungs. “Come on, baby. Fuck me up. Come on!”
“Goddammit!” he shouts, throwing me off and stuffing his shit back inside his pants. “She won’t shut the fuck up.”
Del hands him a roll of duct tape, and I wiggle my hands out, sweat beading my brow. I pull my hands through the fabric, finally freeing them as Milo comes over. He bites off a strip of tape and moves for my mouth, but I launch up, grab the bar light over the pool table and yank it again and again, screaming at the top of my lungs.
It crashes down, right on top of Milo’s head, disorienting him, and I move fast. Shoving him off, I bolt off the tables, run for the door behind me, and fucking pray it’s not a closet.
I dive through, the hallway on the other side dark, but I spot a bit of light at the end and race for it. Shouts echo behind me, and I pass a small, black table against the wall and shove it to the ground as they launch through the door after me. I run for the end of the hallway, diving into a great room, moonlight glowing through the window and across the floor.
“Ah!” someone bellows.
“Fuck!” Callum growls.
Grunts and crashes sound behind me, and I know they’ve stumbled over the obstacle in the hallway, hopefully fucking piling on top of each other.
Throwing open the front door, I leap outside, into the night, the sprinklers spraying in long, misty arches over the green.
Digging in my heels, I run for the tree line in my bare feet.
“Liv!”
And I recognize the voice instantly.
I whip around, seeing Clay run for me, and I catch her in my arms as she rushes me.
“Baby,” I cry. I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her neck.
“What did they do you?” She kisses me—my cheek, my lips, my jaw, again and again.
“Shhh,” I tell her, trying to calm her down. I spot Macon and Army just as Dallas pulls me toward the bushes, and we all crouch down. Iron and Trace run up from the service entrance road, and I look around at my family as Clay touches my face, her eyes scanning every inch of my body.
Her gaze locks on my cheek, and I register the sting still there from Milo’s slap. It’s probably red. “It’s okay,” I say. “They didn’t do nearly as much as I did to them.”
“Liv…”
I dart my eyes to Macon. “It’s okay,” I cut him off. “They didn’t hurt me.”
Not badly anyway.
Dressed in my underwear, I know what he’s thinking. And I know exactly what he’d do if he knew what might’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten out of there.
I kiss Clay again, pulling on the flannel Iron tosses me.
“How did you know they brought me here,” I ask her.
“I didn’t.”
I look up at Macon, but he’s already walking. I shoot to my feet, seeing Callum and Milo run out of the field house, Del and the other two stopping dead when they see my brothers charge across the green and right for them.
I start after Macon. “No.”
But Clay interjects. “Let them fuck them up,” she tells me, handing me my phone I’d left behind in the limo.
Macon, Army, and Dallas head straight for the patio, Del and the other two backing away. They bolt, disappearing back into the clubhouse, or out of sight.
I stare at Clay. “They won’t win this and you know it. No fighting.” And then to my brothers, “This wasn’t the plan.”
We’re not Collins’ or Ames’. We can get physical and keep up in a fight, but they can hurt us, because we’re poor.
She touches my face again, lightly. “Who hit you?” she whispers.
I close my mouth.
“Who was it?” she demands again. “Callum?”
I glance after Dallas for less than a moment before answering her. “No.”
“Milo?” she presses.
I say nothing.
And she has her answer. She straightens, locking her jaw, and grabs the hunting knife Iron has strapped to his belt.
She charges off, Iron and Trace following her.
“Clay, no!”
“Fuckin’ yes,” Trace replies.
She goes, they follow, and I run after them all, trying to figure out who to stop first as I button up the flannel.
Milo pulls something out of his pocket, and Dallas swats it out of his hand. A phone goes flying, but Callum just takes a seat at a table, unfazed.