Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Let’s talk,” I yelled back holding both hands up, gun still in my right, my finger off the trigger.
Six men walked through the doors in similar fashion. Each of them looked like they’d drunk way too much over the past week and were in need of a shower.
The De Langes had never impressed me.
Even less so now.
I pulled Alice to her feet. “Is this what you want?”
The men’s eyes roamed over her body, my body, the body I’d kissed, loved, touched.
“Alice…” One of them licked his lips. “You’re looking good.”
She glared. “Go to hell.”
“Aw.” He put a hand on his heart. “They’ve turned you against us.”
She let out a humorless laugh. “No, my brother turned me against my own family every time he touched me, my father every time he let my brother into my room, my family name when I was forced to hide for a full year wondering if the monsters were going to come. Sorry, but I’m taking my chance with them, I’d rather die than go with you.”
“Funny.” He sneered. “Because the way I see it, they can’t let you live. Regardless of who you’ve been whoring yourself out to.”
Logical thought crashed through the window of my brain as I shoved her back against Chase and aimed for the guy who’d called her a whore.
I opened fire.
I didn’t stop.
I shot every single one of them in the head.
And then tossed my gun on the table as I let out a rough exhale. “Rot in Hell.”
My chest was heaving, my blood boiling as I stared at their dead bodies.
It was out of character.
I knew that.
The Italians knew that.
I didn’t just shoot.
I tortured.
I toyed.
I played.
And then I struck.
Not today. Not with them.
I’d shot without thinking.
In all my life, I’d taken special care in playing indifferent, not showing my tells, appearing unaffected by everyone and everything.
And when it mattered most.
I laid all my cards out on the table and pointed to my only weakness.
A De Lange.
Alice De Lange.
Six thirty-two.
My heart.
My soul.
I’d just damned her to Hell.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Alice
I’d never seen him so angry.
So ruthless.
Cold-blooded.
That was the same man who’d whispered my name, who’d held me close, the same man who’d shed a tear for me.
That man had just massacred six of my family members.
Because they insulted him.
And tried to take me.
It hit me then, why he was so convinced there was no way out, but death. My own family would have used me against him. They would have done whatever it took to stay alive.
The De Langes were desperate enough.
And a De Lange alive was a dangerous thing.
It threatened everyone.
I hung my head and then put a hand on Andrei’s tense shoulder. “Ubei menya.”
“No.” He clipped.
“Yes.”
“Alice…” His voice shook.
I leaned up on my tiptoes and brushed a kiss across his cheek. “I don’t want it to hurt too long.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
And then someone was grabbing me from behind. My body trembled as I looked over my shoulder.
Chase.
His face was set in stone as he pulled my hands behind my back and shoved me to my knees.
“Not here!” Andrei barked. “Not in the club.”
Oh God, he didn’t mean it right? He didn’t mean to take me to that place? Where nightmares were born? Where dreams died?
Chase pulled me to my feet.
Andrei’s eyes flashed as he grabbed his gun and led the way, the only funeral procession I would get would be before my death as the most powerful men in the Italian mafia, and the monster I loved, led me to the cement room.
I swallowed bile as the huge door clicked open. Chase shoved me down the cement stairs and then I was standing in front of all the windows. I imagined all the women who had died there, who had had their throats slit in front of men who paid to see it.
Who were so aroused by it that they went and paid for a girl and a room.
I was going to be sick.
This was real life.
This wasn’t a fantasy.
He’d warned me.
He’d given me a number, not a name.
I was Alice De Lange. Six-thirty-two. And I was going to be sacrificed because people can’t choose their blood.
And mine was damned.
All of the men, including the older ones I didn’t recognize, stood before me as Chase once again shoved me to my knees.
Andrei pressed his gun to my forehead.
I expected it to be hot from all the shooting.
It felt cold.
Lifeless.
“You’re so warm…” he’d whispered.
Tears stung my eyes and fell down my cheeks.
“Don’t move.” Chase shoved me a bit. Footsteps echoed as he walked away and then returned and handed a long black whip to Andrei.
Andrei glared at him. “I don’t really have time to teach you how to use this, Chase.”
“I don’t need a lesson since I’m not going to be the one using it. Blood must be spilled…” He looked over at me. “So fucking spill it.”