Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
For him because he likes to see chaos unfold. I prefer to control it, choke it off and not allow it to breathe unless absolutely necessary.
My phone vibrates, and I pull it out as Kill simultaneously retrieves his.
It’s a text in the group chat.
Nikolai: Where the fuck is everyone? The house is empty.
Gareth: We actually have lives aside from entertaining you, Niko.
Nikolai: Oh, fuck off, you’re probably studying like a nerd.
Gareth: As I said. Life.
Killian snaps a picture of the scene, or more accurately, of Brandon, who’s ignoring the chaos unfolding around him, elbow on the table and his chin leaning on his hand. He’s checking his phone with a bored expression plastered all over his face.
A Cheshire cat grin lifts Killian’s lips as he sends the picture to the group chat.
Only a second pass before the reply comes.
Nikolai: Where the fuck are you, Satan’s heir?
Killian: Expanding my options?
Nikolai: Fuck you right the fuck off. Don’t get on my nerves or I’ll cut your dick off while you sleep.
Killian: I also told you not to get on my nerves, but you went ahead and had that drink with Glyndon.
Nikolai: That was weeks ago.
Killian: Still counts.
Nikolai: You know what is also counting? The number of your days.
Jeremy: Tone it down.
Nikolai: Jer! Have you seen the shit he’s spouting?
Jeremy: He has a point.
Nikolai: The fuck? How can you take his side over mine?
Jeremy: I want you to think very carefully about what you’ve done the last couple of weeks, Niko.
Nikolai: You can’t be fucking serious. I can’t even talk to Cecily now?
Jeremy: Not if you can help it.
I snap a picture of the table, Brandon included, and send it to the group chat.
Nikolai: I’m wounded, Jer. Why didn’t you take me with you?
Jeremy: I thought you were busy…with what again? Oh, sleeping to preserve your energy for violence.
Nikolai: I would’ve sacrificed that for you, Jer. What are bros for?
Jeremy: Uh-huh. You dodged a bullet anyway. The Brits are boring except for Cecily.
Killian: And Glyndon. @Nikolai Sokolov I asked you if you wanted me to take you on a stroll, but you said no.
Nikolai: I’m not your fucking dog, motherfucker. Also, I just found out where that place is. Prepare to meet your maker in fifteen.
Kill snickers. I turn off the screen of my phone. Cecily and I should leave before Nikolai shows up and starts drama that’s of a more significant scope than Remington’s, because, unlike him, my friend actually talks with his fists.
“Be right back,” Cecily whispers, then slips her hand from mine and heads toward the bathroom.
I keep watching her back, eyes narrowing the slightest bit. Even though I was distracted by Nikolai and his antics, I notice that she’s reading a text out of sight now.
I also don’t like the expression she had when she just left. There was a tinge of nervousness and, more importantly, guilt. What the fuck does she feel so guilty about?
The noise and movements around the table swirl, mix, and explode in tones of black and gray until I’m unable to see straight.
No matter what I do, how much progress I think I’ve made with Cecily, how deeply I think I’ve claimed her, it always feels like she’s gatekeeping a part of herself.
The one I can’t reach. The one I’m not allowed access to.
When I meet Annika’s gaze, I find that she’s watching me carefully. She must see the change in my expression and even the demons floating around my head like a halo.
Despite my calm demeanor, the façade is nothing more than a camouflage of the need for violence that ripples through me.
I stand up and, without a word, I follow Cecily’s steps. The asphyxiating feeling I’ve had ever since she left my side turns from bad to fucking disastrous when I don’t find her in the long line.
Judging by the time she left, she should be here somewhere, but she isn’t.
I stride down the hall to the back entrance. The air slaps my face the moment I’m outside, but it’s not as jarring as the feeling that slams against my chest when I catch a glimpse of a very familiar fucking car.
A damn flashy McLaren.
Cecily stands in front of it, talking to the car owner while rubbing her arms. Up and down.
Her expression is solemn, her face is caught in its ethereal calm, and her cheeks are flushed.
I try to imagine that it’s only because of the chilly night, that it’s not because she’s talking to that fucker Landon.
After leaving me inside.
It takes me a few moments to regulate my breathing. If I act right now, I’ll kill him and choke the fuck out of her.
Calm the fuck down.
Easier said than done when my muscles are tightening, demanding I pummel the fucker to the ground and claim her in his blood as I promised to.