Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
“You can have Rudge’s room. If the fucker even comes home, I’ll give him the couch.” I nodded. As I turned to walk away, Viking grabbed my arm and yanked me against his chest. His huge fucking arms wrapped around me and he kissed my head. “You’re a survivor, kid. You Cade brothers are fucking made of titanium or some shit. You’ll get through this. You both will.” I held my breath so I wouldn’t fall apart. I pulled away from Viking. Without looking in his eyes, I made my way to the bedroom.
I shut and locked the door, dropping my clothes to the floor. I wiped away the tears and stared out of the window opposite. It framed the woods beyond. Then they came, the people I’d killed. One by one, they came to remind me of what I’d done. They always came. And then out walked Slash, just fucking staring at me through the window, the bullet wound in his head as fresh as the day it was made. Not now. I couldn’t take this now.
My eyes dropped to my jacket as I remembered what was inside. I searched the pocket and pulled out the packet of coke, the blade, and the rolled paper. I tipped the snow onto the dresser and cut it into lines. I snorted the coke line by line until I felt the addictive numbness it brought begin to seep into my bones. My shoulders relaxed and I let out a deep breath. I cracked my eyes open and looked out of the window. I exhaled in pure relief. They were gone… Slash had disappeared.
Staggering to the bed, I lay down and let the real world fucking fade away. As I closed my eyes I saw Saffie on top of me, in the forest. I was holding her hand and kissing her soft mouth. No poppa, no echoes of what he’d done to me, and let others do to me as a kid, no slut riding my cock, just Saffie and me—no one fucking else.
I could never have her in real life. So this would do. No, this was better than real life. Real life was fucked up and it hurt to live in it. This was better—numbed, no pain, and an angel by my side. Blond hair and brown eyes, and the smile she had just for me.
Fucking perfection.
Chapter Ten
Maddie
The fire in the living room gave off the only light in our cabin. The orange glow, which filtered into the bedroom, illuminated Flame who was still sleeping soundly in bed. It had been two days since he had been returned to me. Two days since Rider and Bella came and attended to his wounds. Rider had given Flame fluids via an IV, providing him with sustenance to make him strong. Flame had to be strong. He needed to be ready to fight from the moment he opened his eyes.
Alone in our cabin, I had washed Flame. With a washcloth and soapy water, I had taken care to wipe away the remaining blood from Flame’s body. Disposed his soiled clothes, dressed him in sleep pants, and deliberately kept his injured torso bare. I had shampooed his hair, taking time to comb through the long black strands. It had grown so long. I had taken care of my husband. And with every action, I found myself praying.
When I left The Order, God had no place in my life. But seeing Flame’s peaceful face as he slumbered, I knew I wanted the peaceful rest to remain. I imagined what it would be like for Flame to awake and not feel the rush of heat in his blood. Not be reminded of his abusive past by the smallest and most innocent-looking triggers. I rested my hand on my bump. I really wanted Flame to want his baby with the same desperate need as me. I wanted him to want to be a papa without the fear that he would hurt our baby, or worse to be the reason our baby would not survive.
Lying here now, on our bed, I let my fingertips gently explore his wounds. They were beginning to heal. I had made sure I kept them clean. My brow furrowed when I ran my fingertip over the snakebite on his right pectoral muscle. The bumps were red and inflamed. I did not want to, but the sight made me think of Flame as a young boy, scared of the world and his place on it. A world that was confusing to him, but not to others. A world where he wanted to make a connection with other children—to play and to laugh, but the know-how was a mystery to him. I swallowed back the gutting lump in my throat. I gently drifted the back of my hand over his cheek, the hair from his beard soft to the touch. His beard was now washed free of blood and he no longer felt the pain from being strapped tightly to a tree.