Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“I know,” I whisper, “but I don’t need your protection. I can handle myself. I know what I’m getting into. I’ll be okay.”
“I know you can handle yourself, I’ve seen it. But I don’t want your stubborn need to prove some bullshit point to get you in trouble. If you’re backed into a corner, you fucking call for help. Got it?”
I roll my eyes and nod. “Got it.”
His eyes brighten with the slightest bit of hope but it’s short lived as the guys start filing out of the room. I turn and stalk them, following close on their heels knowing damn well that if I don’t get into the car quick enough, they’ll leave without me.
We all pile in and Grayson makes a point of Carver and I getting squished into the trunk space. After all, we’re supposed to be dead, and while our faces are covered, seeing two extra bodies getting around with the boys would be suspicious as fuck.
It’s only a quick drive, and hell, I don’t even know whose fucking car this is. All my father’s cars were destroyed. Carver’s Escalade was damaged when Knox decided to throw Cruz off his bike and I’m pretty sure the SUV we’d stolen from Cruz’s mom was covered in bullet holes. I mean, we really shouldn't be trusted with cars at the moment. We have a really bad track record. Take my Ducati for example. I don’t even know what’s going on with that anymore, but I wouldn’t mind having it back so I can have some kind of escape when the boys start begging for forgiveness.
Carver pulls me into his chest as the rest of the car remains silent. “You good?” he questions as I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart, wondering why the hell it isn’t pounding like mine.
“Will be once we get them all out,” I murmur. “I hate that they’re in this situation because of me.”
“This isn’t your fault, Winter,” he insists, his tone rising so that the guys can all hear our conversation. “Paris is fucked in the head. This is on her. I don’t want you resting this on your shoulders. If something happens to any one of them, it’ll fucking kill you and I don’t want you carrying that type of guilt. Trust me, it’s not fun.”
I let out a sigh, and before I even get the chance to argue or question him, Grayson is bringing the car to a stop. “We’re here,” he says, his tone low as the guys look out the window at the sleek high-rise office building that sits before us, the hundreds of occupants within having absolutely no idea of the horrors that have been going on in the bunker below their building.
Grayson hits the gas again, driving straight through to the underground parking lot as I look around, wide-eyed, trying to figure out how the hell we get from the parking lot into this bunker, but as Grayson continues going down the levels, it starts to become a little clearer.
We reach the very bottom and must be at least five floors down when he brings the car to a stop outside a black metal door labeled ‘Maintenance.’
“This has got to be it,” Cruz murmurs, his voice so low that perhaps he’s talking to himself.
“Only one way to find out,” King mutters as his eyes swing back to me with concern, looking as though he wishes to have chained me to my father’s desk in the hopes of keeping me safe. But we’ve all learned that the only true way for me to keep safe is to remain by their sides.
Silence fills the car as the boys shift their gazes from one end of the parking lot to the other, searching for cameras, threats, or other entrances. Coming up blank, we all pile out of the car, determined not to let those kids spend another minute terrified and alone in there.
Grayson leaves the car running for a quick getaway as we all rush toward the metal maintenance door. It’s locked, but I’m not surprised. As if some idiot is going to leave this open for the public to come walking in.
All eyes fall on King. We’re going to have to blow it, but in doing so, we give ourselves away which will only mean trouble for us. Who knows what kind of orders Paris has given her men. If they know we’re coming, they could harm the kids. There will no doubt be a wild shootout, and to be honest, if it’s going to go down like that, then I’d prefer the kids to be out of here before it happens.
King tracks back to the car and just as he starts searching through a big bag of goodies, we hear the familiar sound of the metal lock sliding out of place.