Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Then I spot Zara, looking forlorn, eyes shining with what appears to be fresh tears, and I'll be damned if she doesn't think I made her a promise and then left. Is this how she acts every time I have to ghost? Fuck me if that doesn't hit me in the chest like a shotgun blast.
"Hey," I say when I step up behind her.
She spins in my direction, relief in her eyes. "You moved."
"It's getting crowded in here. Wanna leave?"
She shakes her head, lifting a bottle of water to her lips and taking a long pull on it. Of course, I'm entranced by the way her throat works on a swallow.
When a couple gets up to dance, she rushes forward and takes a seat on one of the stools, patting the one beside her. I eye the stupid thing, knowing it's in one of the worst places, making it impossible to see both the hallway and the front door at the same time, but I take a seat anyway, loving the smile it brings to her face.
Music rolls from the jukebox, the atmosphere in the bar jovial and excited as we near midnight. But time still crawls by.
I notice the girl first, but instead of watching her leave the bar, I watch Zara's face when she spots her, wondering exactly what the relief I see flowing out of her body means when she sees the girl leave the bar.
I turn to face her, the question on my tongue when the bar erupts.
"Ten, nine, eight..."
Zara stands, the countdown lost in the roar of the crowd, and I stand in front of her.
I swear I see every resolution the woman has ever had reflected in her eyes, and if I allow myself a little ego, I'd say that some of them involve me.
I know it's going to happen. It's how you ring in the new year, with a kiss, a promise of sorts. For the very first time in my life, I want to make a promise. Not one of vengeance or retribution, but one of something more personal. I don't know how things will work out. I have no fucking clue if it's even possible to make things work between us, but as I lower my mouth to hers, I vow to fight for what this is.
I'm jostled, finding it nearly impossible to keep from toppling on top of and crushing Zara.
I turn to see who the fuck had the nerve to interrupt such an iconic moment in my life, and that's when I feel the sear of heat in my side.
I look over her to make sure she's okay and simultaneously reach for my side, my eyes drilling into my palm when I lift it and notice the blood on my hand.
"Owen?" Zara screeches, her voice barely audible over the cheering and spray of beer starting to coat everyone.
I shake my head, and pull her toward the door, doing my best to ignore the flash of green to my far left.
"We have to get out of here," I growl when she tries to dig her feet into the floor.
"We have to call the cops. What happened? Why is there so much blood?"
With one hand gripping her arm and the other covering the firearm in my waistband, I usher her toward the door, the pain in my side growing exponentially with every step I take.
She's damn near hysterical by the time we make it outside.
"Owen!" she yells as she tries to escape my grasp. "Stop! You're hurting me!"
The roar of vengeance is loud in my ears, and it only grows as I realize I'm hurt more than I initially assumed. I stumble a step, feeling the wetness of blood running down my thigh and pooling in my boot.
"This is fucking bad," I growl.
"We need to call the cops. Give me your phone."
"No cops," I growl. "Promise me, Zara. No fucking cops."
"Owen," she pleads, tears running down her cheeks.
"Jericho," I tell her, my eyes growing heavy. "Call Jericho. He'll know what to do."
I manage to pull my phone from my pocket and hand it over to her.
"Take this," she says, pulling her sweater over her head. "Apply pressure."
I want to cuss her, unclothing in an area where anyone can walk out and see, and then I realize the insanity of that.
"We need to get out of sight," I urge, curling my fingers to get her to follow me into the shadows.
I still don't know where the man is who knifed me, and more scarily, I don't know why I was stabbed in the first place.
"Call Jericho," I manage once again before I drop to my ass on the ground beside my bike.
I pull my gun out of my waistband, needing it close in order to defend her if the man who stabbed me had the intention of getting her, but then my head swims with dizziness.