Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The door is pulled wide and as she gets one look at me, her eyes bug out of her head and she steps in front of me, pulling the door closed and blocking my way. “Who the hell are you?” she demands, pressing up to her tippy toes and looking over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone.
“Are you Lucy?”
“I asked first.”
I resist putting her in her place and get on with it, realizing that if I give her what she needs, maybe she’ll do the same for me. “Slade,” cringe, “Cruz.”
Her brow raises and she gives me that award-winning attitude. “And should that mean something to me?”
“I’m Skylah’s boyfriend. Are you Lucy?”
“First off, it’s Luce. Not Lucy, and second, Skylah doesn’t have a boyfriend. I was just talking to her half an hour ago. She would have told me.”
Shit. She saw her? “How was she? Is she alright? Did he hurt her?”
“Wait…you know?”
“Of course I fucking know. I’m her boyfriend.”
Luce shakes her head as her eyes rake up and down my body. “No offense, but you look like a criminal…and a fucking guilty one at that. I’ve known Skylah since we were kids and if she was going to date a criminal, then she’d at least find one with tatts.”
I groan and push past her, making her scream as I pass. “I need alcohol.”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she screeches. “Get out. You’re bleeding all over the fucking floors. My mother is going to kill me.”
I turn around and groan. “I don’t give a shit about your fucking floors. I have a bullet lodged in my back that I need you to get out before I fucking pass out.”
Her eyes go big as she shakes her head. “This is way out of my league.”
“Seriously? I don’t really give a fuck right now. I need to get this bullet out so I can go back there and kill that motherfucker.’
Luce looks weary as she watches me. “Lucien did this?” she questions with a look on her face suggesting she really wants my answer to be no and I realize that if she’s known Sky all her life, then she would have known Lucien and probably saw a much different side of him than what Skylah saw.
I nod. “Shot me right in the back and promised that Skylah would be next if I went back there.”
She gasps and watches me for a silent moment. “At least go to the pool house so you don’t destroy my home.” She starts walking through the house and I follow her, no doubt leaving a trail of blood behind me.
“Go out through those doors,” Luce tells me, pointing to the back door and out towards the pool house that is bigger than my home. “I’ll go and get the supplies and meet you there.”
I nod. “Bring alcohol. Lots of it.”
Luce walks away and as I turn to face the back door, I let out a low groan. This is fucking killing me. I just have to make it out to the pool house and I’ll be alright, that’s if I don’t pass out, fall into the pool and drown on my way. Right now, there’s probably a greater possibility than actually making it to the pool house.
After what feels like the longest walk in history, I get to the pool house and push my way through the door. I look longingly at the massive double king-sized bed that’s in the center of the pool house, inviting me in, but I keep going. If I stop…I’ll never get up again.
I find the bathroom and as I walk in, I finally see the blood staining my shirt. It’s fucking covering me but something about actually seeing it makes it that much worse. I go to tear the shirt over my head and as I raise my arm, my soul tears right out of my body.
“STOP,” Luce growls from the bathroom door. “You’re going to make it worse. I’ll have to cut it off you.”
My face scrunches as I lower my arms back down and Luce crosses the bathroom. She hands me a bottle of Vodka and drops a tub of supplies down on the counter. Despite knowing that she’s going to need this for the wound, I tear off the lid before swallowing half the bottle desperately needing something to take the edge off.
“Hey, stop,” she snaps, grabbing the bottle from my hand and slamming it down on the counter. “I need to pour that over the wound or you’ll end up with a well-deserved infection.”
Jesus Christ. This chick.
Without skipping a beat, she digs through the tub of supplies and pulls out a pair of kitchen scissors before hacking at my favorite shirt, but I keep my mouth shut about it. That’s not exactly something I have the right to complain about right now.