Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
I sat up, sucking in a harsh breath at the pain that came with the movement, then I yanked him down so his body was flush with mine. His hard cock pressed into me through his jeans.
“You like my blood, remember?” I murmured against his mouth.
“Oh, I remember,” he growled. His eyes locked onto mine. “When we’re done here, you’re gonna take this knife…” he brushed the blade against my cheek, still warm with my blood.
“And you’re gonna carve your initials onto my chest.”
My blood sang at the mere thought.
Then he fucked me, covered in my blood.
We didn’t get to his turn that night. But two nights later, I was the one holding the knife.
My hand shook. Not because I was afraid to make him bleed. I was hungry for it. Especially seeing the state he was in, how crazy it was making him to see me on top of him while holding the knife.
No, that’s not why my hand shook.
It was because I didn’t want to mark him with the last name I’d been born with. Or the one that had been forced upon me. Neither of those were mine. Not even a little.
I cut the letters K.C. into his skin.
I hadn’t let him see it. Had quickly washed and bandaged it, making him promise that he wouldn’t look until I explained it to him.
He’d looked at me questioningly, but he’d promised. Because he trusted me.
Because he loved me.
Hands. Different hands tugged my jeans down. Hands that truly hurt me. Hands that broke me apart. They yanked my jeans and panties down.
They brushed over the scab.
The one that, though still healing, was very distinct.
That’s when he started hitting me. And he didn’t stop. He was killing me, I realized.
I was gone, girl.
SWISS
We found her in a ditch.
A ditch.
He’d tossed her there like she was trash.
Like she was trash.
She was alive. Barely. If he’d known that, he would’ve rectified the situation. It was obvious that he’d thought she was dead.
She looked fuckin’ dead.
We’d only found her ’cause Wire had managed to hack into the husband’s phone, check it against locations. It had been at a hotel for a handful of hours before driving to this road off the highway.
He was still on the move. We were following his exact route. And I only saw her out of sheer luck. ’Cause I was searching the sides of the road with dread. Because Wire—a patched hacker in the Amber chapter—had been able to find one hospital record for Kate. Four years ago. Broken arm. Nasty fucking break. Required surgery. I remembered running my lips across the faint scar on her arm, her telling me about a break, so breathless that I hadn’t heard the edge in her voice. I’d been too far gone to push it. Push for more.
Notes said she fell down the stairs.
Kate was not clumsy. Not even a little. She held herself with grace, poise. I remarked on it many fucking times. And no way could someone get the injuries she got by falling down stairs. In addition to a broken arm, two of her ribs had been cracked. She’d been thrown down the stairs. Or had the shit beat out of her.
The bastard had broken her fucking bones, and I’d let her leave with him. That would haunt me for the rest of my life.
That was the moment my gaze found an unnatural shape on the side of the road, when my headlight had illuminated it.
Illuminated her.
I’d all but tossed my bike to the side and skidded down the bank to where she laid.
She was fuckin’ naked. Covered in blood. Her hair was matted with it, sticking to the swollen, purple skin of her face.
She didn’t even look like herself. I wouldn’t have fucking recognized her if not for the heart shaped birthmark on her hip. If not for my initials carved into her other hip. If not for the thing inside me screaming in pain, in fucking fury. The thing that knew she was mine.
My hands were shaking when I touched her. When I pulled her into my arms. She was ice fucking cold.
“I got you, baby,” I whispered, kissing her head. “I got you.”
I started to rock her slowly.
“You’re okay,” I told her. “You’re okay.” I stroked her hair. My hand was wet with her blood.
“You’re okay,” I said for the third time. It wasn’t a statement. It was a prayer.
She didn’t make a sound.
Not a fucking sound.
The crunch of the ground underneath boots was the only thing I heard.
“Brother.”
The word came through a vortex.
There was a hand on my shoulder. My piece was out of my cut and pointed at my president in one smooth move. My other arm stayed tight around Kate.
Hansen held his hands up in surrender. “We need to move her. Cover her. Get her to a hospital.” His eyes stayed on mine, and I saw the silhouettes of my other brothers behind him. “We need to get her fixed up. First, can you let me look at her?”