Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 154691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Henley’s wide eyes go back and forth between me and Dax’s father. She’s waiting to see if I give her up. I quickly fold the piece of paper and stuff it in my front pocket.
Fuck!
Mr. Monroe turns to me and gestures to the hall. “Law, a moment,” he snaps.
I exit and slam the door shut behind me. He then pulls a key out of his pocket and locks her inside it.
“Law?” She calls out at the click. “Law! Open this door.” She starts to bang on it.
Mr. Monroe ignores her, running a hand down his face aggressively, and then looks at me. “Take care of this.”
I swallow but nod. “Yes, sir.”
I turn to the door that she’s still banging her fists on. But he places his hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Better yet, meet me at Death Valley with the girl. Immediately. I’ll inform the Founders, you tell the boys. This ends tonight!” He hands me the key to his door.
“Will do.” I nod, my hand on the knob.
I hear his heavy shoes slap the floor as he walks down the hallway, followed by a door shutting.
FUCK!
“Law …” she cries. “Please, let me out. You have to help me. Law …”
“SHUT UP!” I shout, pounding my fist on the door, making it rattle, knowing there’s no way for the guests to hear us. They’re all downstairs in the east wing.
She stops beating on it, but I can hear her softly crying.
I need to think for a second. Go over my options. But what options do I possibly have? I take a step back from the door, finally realizing what the piece of paper in my pocket represents, and I close my eyes. Why did you do this, doll? I know what I have to do. If I don’t take care of our little doll, Mr. Monroe will. She knows too much. She’s seen too much. The paper in my pocket proves it. Why did she do this? Why couldn’t she just let it go.
I have to kill her. That’s what he wants. If he does it, he’ll probably bury her alive. At least I can make it quick, and she won’t suffer at all.
I rush down the hall, leaving her locked in the study, and go into Dax’s bedroom. I rummage through his closet, grabbing a Graveyard duffel bag and filling it with a few things I’m going to need. Then I make my way down the back stairway that the staff uses to access the basement. I jump three steps at a time and rush over to the concrete wall. I grab a backpack off a shelf and fill it with rope, a knife, zip ties and then open the gun safe—hoping Mr. Monroe hasn’t changed the code since I was in it last with Dax—grabbing one more thing I need. Shoving everything into the backpack, I make my way back upstairs to his study.
Unlocking the door, I shove it open with my shoe, pushing her back in the process. I throw both bags into the center of the room, and her watery eyes watch them. When she looks back at me, she raises her hands in defeat. “Law, that paper …”
I sigh heavily. “I’m sorry, little doll.” Then I punch her in the face.
She falls to the floor, knocked out cold. I kneel beside her and feel for a pulse. It’s strong. I shove the hair off her tear-streaked face and run my knuckles along her jawline and throat, then over her pretty choker. “I truly am sorry.” I grab the black evening gown where it lowers at the V and yank, splitting the fabric down the middle to expose her chest, knowing what must be done and needing to do it.
CHAPTER FORTY
HENLEY
DARKNESS ENVELOPS ME. Opening my heavy eyes, I see nothing. My head pounds, and I taste blood. The side of my face throbs like it has its own heartbeat. I’m on my stomach with my face turned to the right. I try to move, to sit up, but I can’t. The single movement makes pain shoot up my side. I try to open my mouth to speak, but a strip of duct tape covers my busted lips. I try to will my body to move once again, just to reach up and remove the tape, but I can’t. It takes a second to register why I’m incapable of moving, but I realize my wrists are tied behind my back. As are my ankles. My breathing picks up through my nose, and I manage to pick my head up, and there’s a bag over it. The scratchy material rubs against my sensitive skin. I try to stretch out my legs but don’t get that option, meaning I’m in a very confined space. Listening, I can hear what sounds like an engine. Am I in a car?