Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 107(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
“Mmm…” she groans, peppering my face with kisses. “I needed that.” Lowering her to her feet, I readjust my clothes still wet from the sprinklers and chuckle, heat flooding my body. The breeze feels good against the sweat coating my skin.
“What now?” she asks, brushing down her dress.
“We need to get Leo.”
“We’re not far from the church.” She grins, her chest rising and falling.
“Tonight?”
“We might not get another chance. Ronaldo is dead. The Aires will want retribution.
“I’ll kill them all before I allow them to touch a hair on your head.” Anger like a bomb inside me erupts at the thought of anyone hurting her. She’s a Royal Bastard. Her brother will go to war for her. No one is coming for her. Me, on the other hand—they’ll want blood. This may be our last opportunity, and I want to make that cunt suffer.
“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Lily.
Standing in the cemetery, my heart ricochets against my chest. Soft grass brushes between my toes as we creep through the dark like ghosts risen from the graves. "There's an open grave," Zane murmurs, moving toward a row of chairs, almost tripping over a wreath laid out next to the hole.
"They must have a funeral tomorrow." That pig has no right to perform anyone’s last rites or funerals. How many others has he assaulted? How many more will become his victims if we don't stop him?
It's almost poetic, losing his life in the place he feels safest.
We came in from the back so no one can see us from the street.
A warm orange glow lights up an upstairs room. Sickness churns my stomach. Memories assault me. Phantom pain throbs beneath my skin. The bruises I wore for days…weeks…after his visits…
"On the bed, Lily."
"Lily," Zane whisper-yells. I hadn't realized I'd stopped moving. Tears stream down my cheeks. "I'm coming."
"Are you okay?" He cups my face when I reach him, concern alight in his blue ocean eyes. "You don't have to do this. I can do it alone."
I've known this man all of five minutes, yet something stirs inside me, reaching out toward him, a thread tethering our souls. Dark and damaged but united.
"No, I have to be there. We do it together."
"Okay. You knock on the door. He’ll think you're in distress and a nonthreat."
I nod my head in agreement, and he flattens himself against the wall beside the back door, signaling with his eyes for me to knock. Gulping past the lump in my throat, I will my feet to hold steady and rap my knuckles on the window.
My bones rattle. A light flicks on downstairs, and a few seconds later, a black silhouette walks toward the door.
"You fucked with the wrong girl, motherfucker," I grit out as the knob turns.
"Get on the bed, Lily."
The door opens, and he squints his eyes, looking me over. "I know you." His voice washes over me, coating me in ice. He steps toward the threshold, his dark hair swept off his face, his acne scars like burns, making his cheeks ruddy.
Zane moves like a cat, quick, graceful. "Don't know me, motherfucker," he growls, his knife clutched in his fist.
Forcing his way in, Zane braces his forearm against the devil, backing the evil inside the house. I check the surroundings. Greeted with only the dark night, I race inside and close the door.
Zane wrestles with the devil, jabbing him in fast, precise movements.
Pushing away my fear, I edge farther into his lair. He's a big bastard. He fights back, throwing Zane over a couch and tumbling on top of him. Swinging, he connects a fist to Zane's jaw. There's no collar, no power, just a sicko in his sleep pants and a white cotton shirt, blood soaking through it.
The scales have tipped, motherfucker.
Sauntering up to him, energy zipping through my veins, I lift my bare foot and boot him in the face, knocking him off Zane.
Snatching the knife, I taunt, "I remember you too."
"Lily…" he wheezes, holding up one hand, placing the other against his ribs. Stab wounds litter the side of his body, purposeful strikes to puncture the lung and kidney. Zane is a special kind of animal.
My kind.
Standing over the rapist's thighs, I lean over and grasp the fabric of his pants in my hand, yanking them down.
"Stop! Why are you doing this to me?"
"You fucking know why." Zane dives for him. He straddles his chest, pinning his arms to the floor. The devil attempts to buck him off, but he’s weak, the wounds already seeping the life from him.
Dropping between his legs, I pinch his flaccid cock between my forefinger and thumb and extend it, swallowing the acid burning my throat. I place the metal blade at the base and begin carving, relishing in his screams, feeding on his fight as he attempts to close his thighs but only traps me between them.