Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 518(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Holy fuck,” Lucky muttered, pride in his voice as he broke the deafening silence.
“You got that right,” Bex agreed, in a ‘you go, girl’ kind of tone.
I fought hard to keep my composure, not to break down as I put the final nail not in Devon’s coffin but in the one of that secret Luke and Rosie fantasy that had been dying a very slow death.
“You going to arrest me?” I asked flatly, already knowing the answer, though it broke my heart.
Luke didn’t speak, or couldn’t, I didn’t know which. He shook his head. And then, as if a weight pushed it down, he lowered his gun in a gesture of defeat. His eyes stayed on mine, communicating everything and nothing at the same time.
Then he turned his back on me and walked out.
I saved the club.
And broke my own heart in the process.
Bravo, Rosie.
But wasn’t that what love was?
Destroying yourself for the sake of others?
My hands were shaking as I struggled to put the key in my lock.
The hands that pulled the trigger on a gun. Ending a man’s life.
Splattering his brains all over the floor.
I killed someone.
The sentence came from inside my head, spoken by a strange disembodied voice that didn’t seem at all familiar. Spoken by the person, the monster, I’d created in that split second.
I’d seen plenty of dead bodies. Kept company with plenty of murderers, otherwise known as my family. Death himself was like that horrible uncle who gave you the heebie-jeebies but turned up unexpectedly, never telling you how long he was staying before he left so you could relax, forgetting he existed until he returned again.
Now he was there, breathing down my neck as I fumbled with my keys, putting a shadow on the day that I was sure had been cloudless before.
Before I’d killed a man.
But the worst thing was that wasn’t why my hands were trembling, why my mouth was dry, stomach full of bile.
The killing itself was horrible, but not that horrible. Not something that would follow me around forever. Maybe it was because something was broken in me. Whether it was a product of my upbringing or just nature, it didn’t matter. The killing didn’t. Not really.
It was because Luke watched as I did it. Watched me transition, finally, into the embodiment of everything he so despised.
Before that, I was sure he thought of me as a participant of the life he loathed. An unwilling one who had nature and biology to thank for my place in the club, and was therefore somehow removed from it all. Somehow cleaner.
Ending that bastard’s life saved the club. It also killed, messily and violently, any small, miniscule chance Luke and I had.
Not that the chance was ever going to mature into reality.
I had never been clean. It just took Luke that long to realize it.
I sucked in a gulp of tainted air as I finally stumbled through my front door, slamming it behind me and sinking against it, worried my knees might not support my weight.
But I shouldn’t have worried about them supporting anything since the painful impact of a fist hitting my cheek set me off them so I tumbled to the floor.
I blinked up at the blurry ceiling, confused, and struggled against the blackness that threatened to turn into unconsciousness from the force of the blow.
Then I wasn’t looking at the ceiling anymore. Two figures towered over me, sneering down at me.
“You thought you’d scared me off, did you?”
A boot connected with my ribs, and I choked out a gasp at the ricocheting pain through my abdomen.
“You think I’d be scared off? By a woman?”
I blinked through the pain, swallowing the cry that ached to get out from my throat.
It wasn’t two men.
Just one asshole.
One I’d seriously misjudged.
“You need to leave if you want to live,” I croaked.
I eyed my purse, which had fallen directly in my entranceway, about three feet from where I was lying. I was in a lot of pain, reasonably sure I had a broken rib, but I could make it to there.
And more importantly to the gun, lying slightly out of my open purse.
The one I’d already used to shoot someone that day. What was another dirtbag?
Just as I was about to dart toward it, another brutal kick landed in my midsection.
That time, even though I didn’t want to, I did cry out. And now I wasn’t reasonably sure I had a broken rib. I was certain I had several.
Kevin had taken to wearing steel-capped boots.
I must’ve blacked out, though it wasn’t black I saw but blinding white-hot pain, because when my vision cleared, Kevin was standing above me, holding my gun and grinning.
“See?” He waved it before settling the barrel on me. “I’ve learned.”
I coughed, the jerking motion sending pokers of agony from my ribs to my toes. “Do you want a medal, asshole?” I croaked.