Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Reaper scoffs, and in the one sound, it’s clear as day that he has no intention to stop using that goddamn word. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, sitting up and reaching for a glass of water and painkillers.
A smile pulls at my lips, loving that he was thoughtful enough to have that prepared for me, and as he holds them out toward me, I do what I can to sit up. “Thanks,” I say. “ I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”
“Nothing quite like being burned alive.”
I swallow the little painkillers, cringing as the pills work their way down my hoarse throat. “You know me,” I mutter. “I’m all about experiencing everything life has to offer, but this particular experience . . . I don’t know. I don’t recommend it. Zero out of five.”
A forced smile pulls at Reaper’s lips, and it’s clear he’s trying to make me feel better about my situation, but there’s no sugarcoating this shit. It is what it is, and the only way past it is to give it time . . . and to slit Gasoline’s throat. I’m sure that will have a wonderful healing effect on my soul.
Reaper lays back down, stretching his arm out behind my head and offering me a place to lay, which I take without hesitation. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there to pull me out,” I tell him, getting comfortable against his chest, owing him my whole damn life.
“It wasn’t me,” he murmurs as his fingers brush across my skin. “Shadow was the one who pulled you out. Nearly fucking killed her too, but she wasn’t giving up.”
“What?” I breathe, pushing up against his wide chest and meeting his haunted stare. “Shadow?”
Reaper nods. “She beat me there and didn’t hesitate racing in after you. I don’t know how it went or what happened in there, but when I arrived, she was dragging your lifeless body out the back. She didn’t give up until I got there, and the minute I had you, she collapsed in the grass.”
“Fuck,” I say, my heart starting to race as a million different emotions overwhelm me, remembering the moment a shadow cut through the thick smoke. I was delirious and couldn’t breathe or even scream anymore, but I remember hands pulling at me. I assumed they belonged to Reaper, but it wasn’t him. Shadow risked her life to save me, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Of course I’m so grateful for her sacrifice, but she’s just a child and should never be put in a position where she has to make the decision to risk her own life for someone else’s. “We need to find her. She could be hurt.”
“She’s here,” he tells me. “She’s sleeping in one of the bedrooms and has no immediate plans to leave. She’s good. Just a few small burns, nothing that can’t be fixed with a cool compress and a first aid kit.”
“But—” I let out a heavy breath, never having been so conflicted in my life. “Why would she do that?”
“For the same reason you cook her a meal every night. She cares and wants you to be okay.”
I swallow over the lump forming in my throat and lower myself back against Reaper’s chest, only now just realizing how dirty I am. I’m covered in soot and ash with grass stains across my lower half, probably from where Shadow dragged me. My skin is burned, but from what I can tell, it’s nothing too substantial, and as for my wrists, they’re going to need a bit more attention.
I can’t stop thinking about Shadow fast asleep somewhere deep inside this home or the fact that my suite no longer exists. I can’t help but glance up at Reaper, meeting his hooded stare. “I suppose you’re keeping me hostage here for the foreseeable future.”
He scoffs, not even needing to answer, and I roll my eyes, realizing he has absolutely no intention of letting me leave. “We’re like some kind of dysfunctional family,” I tell him, the words sending a wave of warmth soaring through my chest, making me realize that I wouldn’t have it any other way. Finding a family wasn’t exactly on my bingo card during War Games, but now that we somewhat resemble it, I can’t fathom the idea of losing it.
A soft laugh rumbles through Reaper’s chest, and the sound is the best type of medicine. “I suppose we are,” he agrees.
A stupid smile pulls at my lips, and as I settle back into the sheets, I start thinking a little more logically. All the stuff I brought here is gone, burned to a crisp. My custom tops and weapons, even my laptop, disintegrated into nothing but ash. “What am I supposed to do? All my stuff is just . . . gone,” I say, trying to figure out what the rest of War Games is going to look like for me.