Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
A knock on the door pulls my attention away from Grams. Before I can say anything, the door creaks open, and a young woman pops her head inside. “Sorry, miss, but visiting hours are nearly over.” Ugh. That is just my luck.
“Thanks,” I mumble beneath my breath, feeling completely defeated.
“Grams,” I whisper, and rub my thumb across her hand.
“Stella,” she replies, her voice crackly. “Is that you, pumpkin? I missed you so much. I was so sad when a man came to visit me, but you weren’t with him.”
“Man? What man?” She must be talking about that nurse.
“He asked about you. I can’t remember his name right now, but he did ask about you. If I could just remember his name.” Her face scrunches up and she gives me a frustrated look.
“It’s okay, Grams. Don’t worry about it. Just get some rest, okay? I’ll come back to visit soon.” Hopefully, next time, I’ll be taking her with me. She doesn’t say anything else, and the light in her eyes dims a little bit, telling me that she’s slowly fading back into her mind.
Watching her suffer, seeing her and knowing she doesn’t really see me. It hurts so much, far more than I can put into words.
Releasing her hand, I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek and then turn and walk out of the room. Every fiber in my body is trying to stay with her, but I know I can’t. I need to go, and I need to find a way to take her with me next time. I know the guys said they would help me, but would they really? And if they do, what will they expect from me in return?
The walk down to the bus stop is short, but it’s dark and cold outside now. My thin sweater doesn’t give me much protection from the cold. I get my phone out of my jeans pocket just to be reminded about the fact that it’s dead. It died right after the nurse called me, and since my charger got fried in the fire, I have no way to charge it. Putting the useless device back, I wrap my arms around myself and keep walking.
With every step I take, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Paranoid, I look around, waiting for someone to jump out of thin air and attack me, but no one does. I try and shake the thoughts away, but I can’t. It feels like someone’s eyes are on me, watching my every move. When I reach the bus stop, I shove my hands into the pockets of my sweater and wait impatiently for the bus to show.
I’m looking at the ground, trying to push the image of Grams strapped to that bed out of my mind, when out of nowhere, a hand comes and covers my mouth. In a millisecond, I’m hauled back against a firm chest, the manly smell of soap and pine fills my nostrils as I suck in air through my nose. Before I even have time to panic, he starts talking.
“We told you what would happen if you left,” Easton’s sinister voice coats my skin in darkness. He sounds angry, more than angry even. He sounds… calm, and if I’ve learned anything, calm is far worse than crazy. I try and speak against his hand, but the words come out muffled.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it. We thought we could trust you, and you took that trust and shattered it.” Easton’s clipped tone is a warning, and I close my mouth, praying for the best while knowing deep down nothing good is going to happen as he walks backward and toward an alleyway.
When he stops, he releases me and opens the door to the blacked-out SUV. He doesn’t so much as say a word as he shoves me inside, not so gently. Cam turns in his seat and the look he’s giving me, makes me feel so disappointed in myself.
“Grams’ nurse called and—” I start but instantly shut up when Easton’s hand comes out of nowhere and wraps around my throat. He pulls me across the bench seat, until my face is inches from his own. The feral look in his eyes tells me he wouldn’t have a problem strangling me right now. He’s killed once before, what’s stopping him from killing you now?
“I don’t care who called you or what they wanted. When we tell you to do something, you fucking do it.” He spits the words at me, squeezing a little tighter, making it harder for me to breathe. Anger pours out of him like an infected wound, and I shiver at the coldness of his words. I wheeze as he stares at me, and I stare back at him, not wanting to give up and show weakness. I made a choice, and now I’ll take the consequences.