Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“You’re going to Sunrise City,” Creed replies. “That’s not up for negotiation.”
“I don’t care what kind of danger I’m in. This is potentially the end of the free world we are dealing with. I can’t go.”
Creed eyes Jensen. “We’re leaving.” And before I know his intent, Creed has lifted me out of the chair and guided me to the hallway, where I’m planted between the wall and his big body, effectively bullying me.
His hands plant on either side of me, caging me, but his voice is tender and calm. “I know this is hard, sweetheart,” he says. “But the Trackers are coming for you. We have to go underground. Then we’ll find a way to fix this together.”
“How? How do we do that when you want my father dead, and no matter what, I can’t want that? I can’t.”
“Addie—”
“Do you want him dead? Say it. Say it, because I need to know.”
He bends at the knees, bringing himself eye-level with me. “What I want is your safety. You’re my priority right now. You won’t survive the night if you stay here. You have to survive if you want to fight.”
He’s right—of course, he’s right—but hiding feels wrong. Guilt over so many things is eating me alive. “I helped my father. I stood by him. I—”
He kisses me—a deep, passionate kiss filled with the gentle strength I’ve always loved in him. Gentle. No matter how demanding or how stubborn this man can be, he’s always been gentle with me.
“We’ll find an answer,” he promises. “But we have to leave now. Okay?”
He’s asking despite the fact that we both know he’s not really asking at all, but it matters to me that he goes through the motions. I nod, unable to find my voice. I’m running, but only because Creed’s statement is accurate. I have to survive to fight. And I’m going to fight like I’ve never fought before.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucian
I found Julian in the center of his coliseum—Tad by his side with a smug look on his face, as if he mattered or something. They stood between a row of thirty wolves and another row of as many soldiers—a formation Julian favored when training the wolves for combat. He planned to use them to herd humans when he was ready to take over. To herd and kill as needed. Those damn wolves. I will never get used to those beasts walking amongst them as if they were above higher forms of life, just because they were joined with Julian.
I exit a stone staircase as Julian lifts his hand and then throws it down. The wolves and soldiers charge at one another. Julian and Tad back away, walking toward me, Tad by Julian’s side as if he belongs there instead of at his feet. Tad couldn’t see he was just another dog, lapping at Julian’s heels. But he would. Soon.
I would see to it. Because I had a plan to turn Creed and Addie’s time together into their end and my beginning. By night’s end, I would not only see to it that Addie Lawrence was dead; I’d frame Creed as her killer. Lawrence would be furious, devastated—vulnerable to Brock’s Red Dart probes. And Creed would be captive inside Zodius City, ready for his punishment. I would be his replacement, and Tad would be nothing.
Chapter Nineteen
Brock
I pull my truck under the bridge I’ve been directed to by Lawrence and kill the lights. Darkness is suffocating, silence complete, but for the rush of tires over the concrete highway above. Seconds morph into minutes, and my edginess is palpable.
The whistle of the wind comes soft and low, and I flip open the center compartment and remove a Smith and Wesson. It might be hard to kill a GTECH, but I know how to make a shot count.
Abruptly, the wind gushes around the vehicle. A roar of thunder follows, providing some comfort that this is Mother Nature rather than a Windwalker. I relax marginally, but do so with the comfort of that steel weapon against my palm.
From a distance, headlights flicker and turn down the street, high beams that cut through the fog. A white van pulls to a slow halt a few feet from my truck, lights illuminating the droplets of rain as they nosedive to the pavement.
I sit there, and so does the driver in the other vehicle. A silent standoff of sorts until I accept that I am being forced to exit first. I shove open the door, but with my weapon in hand.
Rain pelts steadily now, and my shirt clings to my skin, but I ignore the ice of the droplets. Still, no one exits the van, and between the black of the night and the tint of the front window, I’m clueless as to whom I’m dealing with.
I round the hood to the panel door and knock. It slides open, and to my shock, big blue eyes framed with long, sleek, raven hair greet me. The woman is striking—beauty in its purest form—and the smile she offers me is sweet enough to charm a battalion of soldiers. What the hell is she thinking, meeting a man under a bridge alone?