Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
I stare at her. Just stare, stunned, out of words and out of energy. “I won’t leave you,” I say quietly, giving her what she wants to hear, and she freezes, looking up at me. I hate the hope I see in her empty eyes. “I think I need a doctor.”
“I’ll get my dad.” Lauren’s up fast, running to the phone on the nightstand. “Dad, dad, Jesse’s hurt. I need you to come. I need you to come now!”
She hangs up, just as John bursts into my room. His face when he sees me on the couch, bleeding out, is fraught. And then when he finds Lauren by the bed, it goes from fraught to murderous.
“Don’t worry, I’ve called a doctor,” Lauren declares, coming back to me, sitting down and stroking my face with her bloodied hands, whispering words that make me sick to my stomach. I look at John, my eyes warning him.
Tread carefully.
But that plan goes to shit when Sarah breezes into the room. Lauren looks up. A wall of hatred falls. And she’s off, flying across the room like a rabid dog. “He’s mine!” she screams, charging into Sarah, smashing her up against the wall. I struggle to my feet and get the knife, and John wrestles Lauren to the floor, restraining her, face down, her arms up her back. She’s completely immobilized. Except for her mouth.
“He killed our baby,” she screeches. “I hate him! He killed our baby. He killed our baby. He killed our baby.”
* * *
I roar, my head snapping back, my eyes clenching shut. And my heart? The fucker starts to slow. I heave and pulse, blinking the rage from my vision. Focus. I need to focus. I turn my head, spotting my phone on the nightstand. My lips press into a straight line, and I wriggle up to sitting, stretching as far as I can, my hand squeezing through the cuff painfully. “Fuck it,” I hiss, trying to disregard the discomfort, my fingers skimming the edge of my mobile. “Come on,” I murmur, straining. “Fucking hell.” My arm feels like it could pop out of its socket. I grit my teeth, cursing constantly, stretching, and wrap my grip around my phone and practically spring back against the headboard, puffing violently. “You are seriously in for it, lady,” I mutter, smashing away at the screen of my phone. I dial John. It goes to voicemail. Growling, I dial Sam. It goes to voicemail. “Where the fuck is everyone?” I yell, wriggling for the sake of it, yanking and tugging at the cuff still in place.
Calm down.
I dial John again and get nothing again. I dial Sam again and get nothing again. I dial Drew. Nothing. I yell and slam my head back, looking up at the ceiling, willing myself to calm the fuck down before I break an arm. And I slowly come to terms with my fate. I don’t want to call her. I really don’t want to call her, but she’s the lesser of two evils at the moment.
My nostrils flaring dangerously, I dial. She answers in two rings but says nothing.
“Where are you?” I ask shortly, looking up at my hand hanging lifelessly from the bed. The red welts are glowing, the bruising angry, the swelling back.
“Just leaving home for The Manor. Why?”
“I need you to swing by my place.”
“Why?”
“Sarah, for fuck’s sake, are you going to help me or not?”
“Oh, you want my help?”
I slump on the bed and accept what needs to be done. “Yes, I need your help.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding all too thrilled about that. “Why?”
“You’ll see when you get here.” I hang up, refusing to indulge her. I know Sarah better than anyone. If I say I need her help, she’ll come running. That won’t have changed because I’m in a relationship with a woman she doesn’t like or approve of. Would Sarah approve of any woman?
I make a quick call to Clive, telling him to expect Sarah. Then, because of my state of mind—as in, I’m not thinking straight—I try Freja again. Voicemail. That she’s not answering my calls makes me all kinds of nervous, especially when I’m currently helpless. “Fuck it.” I toss my phone aside, closing my eyes and fighting to find that calm. For Ava’s sake. And for mine.
* * *
An hour later, a whole fucking hour, I finally hear the front door close. I still haven’t found that calm I was searching for. “Jesse?”
“The bedroom,” I yell, struggling to sit up, my hand throbbing. “What’s taken you so fucking long?”
“Traffic.” Sarah appears in the doorway, and her curious look soon turns into one of surprise as she takes in my body on the bed, her stare working up from my dick to the headboard where my dead arm hangs. Her mouth falls open.