Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 38444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
He braced one hand against the outside brick wall and took a moment to try and orient himself toward his car. Luckily, he’d kept his driver working tonight because there was no way he could drive himself anywhere.
Ezra couldn’t repress a chuckle. He was going nowhere, just like his father had always predicted. Elijah Forsberg would be laughing, if it weren’t for the whole being dead thing. Hard to laugh with a bullet hole through the face.
He still didn’t know if tonight’s over-indulgence was in grief…or celebration. Ezra had felt numb all throughout the funeral yesterday. He sure didn’t feel numb now. Nope, he was wonderfully tingly and almost carefree. Almost. No amount of alcohol could take away the reminder that his crime lord father was no longer around to make his life miserable.
“That him?”
Hard fingers gripped Ezra’s biceps and yanked him around the corner of the club and into an alley.
“What? Who?” he slurred as he took in the pitch blackness in front of him. He turned toward his assailant but only got a glimpse of a black ski mask in the faint light from the outside streetlights. The guy pulled him toward that dark back of the alley.
Drunk or not, Ezra knew he did not want to go there. He threw out a punch with his free arm, only to have it caught by another guy he hadn’t noticed.
“What do you want?” he demanded, using his haughtiest voice so they’d realize he wasn’t going to just go along with whatever they had planned. He was pretty sure it wasn’t a good time. Not for him anyway. “If it’s money, I got plenty of that. But not on me. Where’s the closest ATM?”
“Shut up, rich boy,” the guy to his right growled, digging his fingers in even harder as he forced Ezra farther away from the loud music. “Nobody’s gonna hear you, no matter how loud you scream.”
“Scream? What the hell?” Fear made him freeze for an instant before he started to really struggle, kicking out his feet and yanking on his arms. Both men were bigger than him. Stronger than him. “What do you want?” he repeated.
“I told you to shut up. You must have pissed off the wrong person, rich boy, because we’re getting a lot of money to snuff you out.” He slammed his meaty fist into Ezra’s stomach on the last word.
Ezra’s vision went white. He doubled over and puked up the wine he’d consumed, harsh and acidic on his throat.
“Nasty fucker.”
He didn’t know which one had said that, but another punch hit, this time to Ezra’s kidney, and he yelled for help, though he knew the man had been right—nobody would hear him over the thumping beat streaming out of the club. A fist slammed into his face, blood instantly flooding his mouth. This time, he saw stars, and dizziness spun his already inebriated brain. His legs gave out under him. He hit the pavement hard and could only curl up as the two men began kicking him.
There was so much pain, it all became a blur. The only constant in his mind was that he was going to die. In a puddle of wine vomit. Just like his old man, except for the vomit and the alley and the lack of bullets ripping his skull open. Elijah Forsberg had died like a rich man, wearing a three-piece suit, and Ezra was going to die like a dog in a stinking alley.
His drunken brain zeroed in on one other thing.
He’d never even gotten the chance to feel love, something he’d yearned for despite telling himself that emotion was for fools. But that thought was fleeting as the blackness of the alley seemed to seep into his mind, turning the edges into yawning abysses.
“Hey, hey!”
“Holy shit, someone’s getting beaten up!”
Different voices penetrated his fog of pain, but he couldn’t completely make them out. The punches and kicks stopped abruptly, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps running away.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
“He doesn’t look okay.”
“Hang on, buddy. We’ll get you to a hospital.”
Realizing he was safe, a little peace seeped in through the unbearable pain in every inch of his body. He closed his eyes and quit fighting the darkness.
When he came to, it was to the brightness of a hospital room and the face of his best friend—his only friend, really—leaning over him. He was pretty sure his brother wouldn’t bother to show up here—and his mother? Just the thought almost made him laugh. Almost. He hurt too much.
“Pissed off the wrong people this time, Ezra?” Corbin was frowning. It didn’t look natural on his handsome face. Corbin was always smiling, always upbeat. So laid back, he gave new meaning to the word.
Which was why he had the patience to deal with Ezra.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t bring this on.” The words felt strange leaving his lips, and he lifted one hand to touch his mouth. It was swollen and sore. He tried to take stock in his other injuries, but he felt a little too floaty and warm. Pain meds. Not something he was fond of. They chipped away at his sense of control—something he’d always needed in his joke of a family. Alcohol was his only occasional vice, and it was too bad he’d caved tonight because a lot of what had happened was a blur.