Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Shifting into reverse, I back the car up, jolting as Tyler jumps on the hood and smacks at the windshield with the hilt of his blade.
“Don’t you fucking leave me!” he roars. His eyes are feral, blood splatter soaks his face and hair.
“Die, you motherfucker!” I scream, moving the gear into drive. I slam my foot down, and my body jerks back into the seat. The weight of the car lurches forward, gaining rapid speed.
“Arghhh!” All my pain erupts, pouring from my lungs. Panic bathes his features. His body sways back and forth as he digs his fingers into the lip of the hood, trying to hold on. I stomp on the brakes, and he lifts from the hood, flying through the air like a bungee cord yanking him away. I flinch when he thuds to the asphalt and rolls a few feet before coming to a stop in a heap.
There’s no movement. No sound. Just the rushing of my heartbeat in my ears.
Darkness has stolen the sky, the moon casting a navy hue against the backdrop of my nightmare. The car lights beam against Tyler’s form. My body shakes from head to toe.
Silent seconds pass.
One.
Two.
Three.
“Run him over,” I say, my eyes squeezing closed. “Do it, Rogue.”
Run him over. Run him over. Run him over.
With a scream that lacerates my larynx, I punch the car forward, my eyes still shut.
One.
Two.
Three.
I spring them open at the last minute and swerve to the right, away from his body. The car fishtails onto a side street. I hold the wheel and straighten out, blowing out a breath as the car slows. With a look in the rearview, I slap against the steering wheel and continue to drive away. “Stupid. Stupid.”
Following the road signs, I end up back at the motel. I forgo Kitty’s car, instead heading straight to the compound for Callan.
Static blasts into the car, followed by clicking, and a voice comes through a radio on the passenger seat.
“Ed, did you find out why the lights are on?”
He’s dead.
“Ed?”
Grabbing the device, I fiddle with the switch until it goes silent and chuck it back onto the seat.
Pain pulses over my body. My gaze drops to my thigh, and my stomach roils. That animal skinned me. There’s no ink left, just a weeping wound. Blood seeps between my legs, creating a warm puddle.
Pulling up to the gate, I slam the heel of my palm into the horn and tip out of the car onto the cold, hard asphalt. Stretches of darkness span all around me, the moon casting shadows that move with the trees. A gentle breeze disturbs the leaves and creaking branches. “Open up.” I attempt to call out, my voice straining. “Let me in, please,” I plead.
A silhouette peers down at me. A second later, the gates begin to open. Leaving the car, I heave myself up and run through the gap, bashing my fist against the clubhouse door until Diamond opens. Her face pales when she sees me.
“Jesus Christ. What the hell happened?”
“Where’s Callan?” I beg, my voice breaking.
“In the bar losing his damn mind. He’s getting everyone ready to search for you.” I propel past her, a couple brothers darting out of my way in the hall. I collapse through the bar’s doorway, my knees colliding with the wood floor. A whooshing of voices fills my ears. Hands grasp at me, lifting me to my feet. A sea of Kings’ cuts surrounds me.
“Rogue, baby, talk to us.” Daddy.
My head swims. I clutch onto the safety around me. Tears stream from my eyes. My lips part, but no sound comes out.
“Rogue? Move out of my way.” Callan.
The sea parts, and Callan fills my vision, a devasting slash of pain caught on his beautiful face. His scent engulfs me, and I cling to him.
“The casino,” I choke out, my tone hoarse, scratchy. A thick haze clogs my mind. “Tyler is at the old casino,” I manage before I fall into obscurity.
Muffled voices draw me from slumber. My eyelids are too heavy. A groan rumbles from my chest, the light assaulting my retinas.
“Rogue?” Callan’s voice caresses my ears, and I open my palm, shifting my arm to reach for him. Strong fingers entwine around mine.
“You’ve got to stop doing this to us,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of my head. His lips press into my cheek, nose, lips.
The blinding white walls of the medical room in the clubhouse surround me. I look at our conjoined hands where bandages cover my wrists and a cotton sheet lays across my waist.
“Did you get him?” I ask, not sounding like myself. My voice is too deep. Too raw.
“No. He wasn’t there when we got there. We found the security guy.”
“Dead?” I ask, though I already know.
“Don’t think about that.” Movement from behind him catches my attention. Kitty chews on her nails, water glistening her eyes.