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)
“Go after her,” Tim grunts, fingers curling around the blade. “Don’t take that out,” I warn, snatching a cloth from a hook above his head.
“I’ll be fine. Go.” He puffs out a heavy breath.
Dammit.
Dropping the cloth in his hands, I give chase, sprinting down the hall and ignoring the sharp stabs of pain through my feet as I bash my hands on every door I pass.
“Rogue?” Dodger calls out from behind me as I race toward the garage. Georgina’s dark hair flails behind her like a shadow as she takes purposeful strides.
“Help Tim,” I shout over my shoulder. “Kitchen.”
Bursting through the door of the garage, I draw to a halt, my lungs fighting for air.
“Are you insane?” I puff out, searching the space around her for a weapon.
Walking backward, she shrugs. “Maybe. That’s what love is, isn’t it?”
“How can you claim to love him and then fuck his dad?”
“You don’t say no to Jericho Cox.”
“I would.”
“You won’t have to.” There’s a confidence in her tone that turns my bones to ash.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that if I can’t have Callan and this club then no one can.” She smashes her palm against a red button on the wall, and the shutter begins rising. I take a step toward her, my eyes darting to the opening shutter. The wind knocks out of me. I stumble and back up. Horror absorbs all the light in the room.
“You didn’t.”
Figures move beneath the door, pouring through the gap.
The Devils are here.
CHAPTER 18
WAR
“Devils!” I shout.
Callan and Jericho are both outside their bedrooms as I race toward them.
“Rogue?” Callan panics, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. Feet bare. No weapon.
I wave my hands for them to go. “They’re inside the club!” Callan’s eyes enlarge, staring at something behind me. I skid to a stop, colliding with the wall beside him, and turn to see a gun raised toward Callan.
Horror bleeds through me. “No,” I say, pushing myself off the wall and into him. A pop rings through the air. A burning slice ignites across my cheek and the bullet embeds into the wall next to our heads. More shots ring out in a blur of movements. I’m dragged inside Jericho’s room, my back hitting the wall.
“Rogue,” Callan’s hands search my body, twisting my face, his panicked, wide eyes gawking at me.
I pat my fingertip along the blazing trail on my cheek.
“Holy shit.” He shakes his head. “I’m beginning to think you have nine lives.”
“Here,” Jericho barks, handing Callan a gun.
A wailing alert sounds through the compound.
“Someone has hit the alarm.” Jericho nods, clutching his stomach.
Shouting and gunfire explode outside the bedroom door.
“I’m good,” I assure Callan, pushing him away so he can focus. Fear is gut-wrenching. Seeing it in the eyes of a man like Callan rips at my soul. “I’m okay,” I repeat, squeezing his arm.
When the shots and voices fade, Jericho jerks his chin to his son.
“Get behind me,” Callan orders me as Jericho twists the door open. Gun raised, Callan steps out, checking left and right, his jaw rigid. “No,” I whimper, seeing Dodger slumped against the wall, blood seeping through his white t-shirt.
Stepping over two bodies in Devil cuts, I drop in front of Dodger and check for a pulse. “He’s alive,” I croak.
Callan hands me his gun and hooks Dodger under the armpits, dragging him inside the room and laying him beside the bed.
“He’ll be safe in here until we neutralize the threat.”
“I’ll stay with him,” I offer, my body trembling.
“No.” Callan shuts me down. “No fucking way am I leaving you. We’ll come back for him.”
Tugging my arm, we venture back into the hall. Callan races to his room, returning a second later with his knife and my gun. “Here.” He nods, taking the gun from me and replacing it with my own.
A spluttering of gunfire hisses through the air. The wailing alarm makes my bones rattle.
We pass a couple more doors, creeping around the corner. Both Callan and Jericho move like trained SWAT. Quiet. Precise. Alert.
“Tim’s in there. Georgina stabbed him,” I announce, pointing to the kitchen.
Two sets of dark eyes cut to mine. “She opened the garage door for the Devils.”
“Motherfucking fuck. I’m going to pull her spine through her back and hang her by it at the gate,” Jericho hisses.
A floorboard creaks to the left of the corridor, and all three of us spin, our weapons raised. Green faces us, his gun aimed.
“Fuck. What the hell is happening?” he whisper-yells, lowering his gun.
“We’re under attack,” Jericho grates out.
“Green, your brother is in the kitchen, injured. Go help him.” I jerk my chin toward the kitchen door. A severe scowl etches across his face, and he slips past us.
Footfalls sound behind Jericho as I turn. My heart stops. The world dips. The Devil raises his arm, a clear shot for Jericho’s head.