Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 103(@200wpm)___ 82(@250wpm)___ 69(@300wpm)
Even from where I'm standing, I can see her trembling, and it kills me that maybe she's scared of me. I know that the look on my face is fierce, and I try to soften it as I look at her. "I won't hurt you," I tell her.
She looks at me in a daze, but she must finally understand what I'm saying. When she drops her hands, her shoulders fall, and she leans backwards against the wall. It's as if adrenaline was going through her, and it left her all at once. I reach for her without stopping this time, needing to have her in my arms to comfort her. I whisper to the top of her head, "Nothing's going to hurt you now. No one is going to get to you."
She lets out a sigh. I know that I need to get her out of here, but there's no way I'm going to just leave Axle here on his own. With one arm around Brandy practically holding her up, I reach into my pocket and pull the phone out, dialing the Pres' phone number. He answers it, and before he can get a word out, I tell him, "Get back here. I'm by the coolers."
I don't wait for him to answer. I hang up the phone, stuff it back into my pocket, and then wrap both of my arms around her. Her hands remain at her sides, but at least she's not holding her body stiff anymore. She's leaning into me as if she needs the support. The Pres walks through the door, and Brandy stiffens in my arms and tries to pull away. I don't let her, though. I hold on to her tightly, and with a nod of my head toward the groaning man on the floor, the Pres makes a quick deduction of what just went on here.
His face hardens. He takes one look at Brandy with her busted lip, the blood, and the torn clothes, and he shakes his head. "Diesel, you take care of her. I'm going to take care of the trash."
I nod my head, and without even asking, I bend down and pick Brandy up in my arms.
Chapter 4
Brandy
I'm not a crier. I didn't cry when I was 10 years old and my mother left me. I didn't cry when my father was sentenced to prison and left me to live with my uncle. But now, in Diesel's arms, I let go. Big, uncontrollable sobs wrack through my body. And he holds me even tighter against his chest. I try to stop. I try to get a hold of myself, but the tears won't stop flowing.
He walks through the back door, out into the gravel parking lot. I'm thankful that he didn't walk us back to the front where everyone was. His feet crunch across the gravel, and he goes into another back door that leads to where all of the bedrooms are. At the end of the hallway, he kicks open the door of his room, walking in and then using his hip to close it behind us.
He sits down in the chair, holding me in his lap. I try to get up, but he doesn't let me. "Stay where you're at. If you won't stay for yourself, then stay for me. I just need to make sure that you're okay."
With my head cradled against his chest, I take a deep breath and try to get myself settled. It's only when I start to calm myself that I notice his heart is racing and he's trembling. I settle back into his arms, lifting my head to look at him. "I'm sorry," I start.
He clenches his eyes shut. His voice is deep and thick as he says, "Fuck, don't tell me that you're sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for."
I put my hand on his shirt. It's wet from where I had laid my face on it. I laugh a little. "I cried and snotted all over you."
He covers my hand with his, holding it there against his chest. "I don't mind," he says.
I can feel my face heat as I think about breaking down in his arms. "I never cry. I mean, never."
He nods his head. "I believe that."
He doesn’t seem to be bothered by my crying, but I insist on trying to explain myself. "I probably wouldn't have cried until you held me. It's like years of crap I've been holding in came out." It's on the tip of my tongue to apologize again, but I hold it in.
He lifts his hand and pushes the hair off of my face. "Crying doesn't make you weak."
I tilt my head to the side and look at him. "Oh yeah? I can't see you doing it a lot."
He shrugs his shoulders. "When I lost my friends in battle, I cried. When my parents died, I cried. I don't think that makes me weak."