Southern Heat (Southern #6) Read Online Natasha Madison

Categories Genre: Angst, Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Southern Series by Natasha Madison
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
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"Were you there when he followed Chelsea?" Mayson asks me. "Outside the diner."

"I was." I look at Jacob. “I was in the getaway car, handcuffed to the steering wheel. He had the keys. He came running back, started the car, and told me to go." My finger taps the bed faster and faster. “I refused. I was done with it." I force myself not to cry. He will not get any more tears from me. "I didn’t care."

"But you drove away?" Jacob says.

"Yes, well, when you have a gun pointed at your head, you pretty much listen." I look down. “I didn’t actually. I told him no, and he pulled the trigger, then he laughed and said, ‘Let’s play Russian roulette.’" The same fear runs through me. “So I took off instead of finding out if I would be lucky again. The sound of the gun clicking right next to your ear is a sound you will never ever forget."

"How much longer is this going to take?" Quinn asks, and when I look back at him, I see the rage on his face. "Ask your questions, and let’s get this over with. She needs rest."

"I have a couple more questions," Jacob says. "Where were you when he kidnapped Chelsea?"

"I was unconscious under a bed," I tell them. “I tried to warn you again. I should have learned my lesson, but he was going to kill her. There was no mistake. He was obsessed with making sure Mayson suffered hell. You"—I look at Mayson—“were his kryptonite. For as long as I can remember, it was Mayson, the one who fucked him over. Mayson is the only one who was able to escape him and his wrath." I take another deep breath.

“I thought he was gone. I opened the door and took five steps before he stepped out and found me. I begged him to kill me. I said whatever I could to make him mad enough to give me the last final blow." My hands shake. “Called him a loser. Called him a misfit. Called him a sorry excuse of a man. What kind of man makes his son win. I said everything and anything I could in order for him to kill me. With each blow, I laughed in his face. His blows would get harder and harder until I was numb. Until I was just a corpse in the middle of that smelly cabin. I don’t remember anything until Quinn found me."

I look over at Quinn, whose face is white and ashen. “I’ll be back,” he says, turning and walking out of the room. I look at his father, who follows him out.

"I don’t know what else you need me to answer," I say to the men who are left in the room. My heart beats a mile a minute. "He killed my mother and kept me because I got a check every month. He didn’t keep me because he loved me or was taking care of me. I was living in hell, and he was the gatekeeper."

“No one wants you. You are nothing, a nobody. No one would care if you died or lived,” I hear echoed in my ears. I close my eyes, trying to drown out the laughing that would come after that. I open my eyes and look out the window at Quinn, who has his back to me.

My heart feels this weird pressure in my chest, knowing what I said might have hurt him. I’ve never had anyone sit by my bed before and worry about me. I’ve never had anyone care that I was hurt. I’ve never had anyone give me even an ounce of what he gave me in the little time he’s known me. I don’t even know him, yet I know that if he’s here, I’ll be safe.

Chapter 13

Quinn

I walk out of the room, and my whole body shakes with rage. My stomach burns, and I have the sudden need to throw up. I listened to her tell her story, and I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. I knew it would be a hard one, but what I didn’t realize was that she spent her whole fucking life in hell.

"You need to rein it in," my father says from behind me. I know I can’t turn around because if I do, she will see my face and the horror on it. She will see the tears running down my face. She will see that, and then she will spin it to something else. I know her, in the short time, I know her.

"Dad,” I whisper or plead, even I don’t know. “I can’t." I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. My head is spinning around and around as I replay the words. “So many things make sense. The way she didn’t want to ask for a thing or admit she needed things, like fucking water."



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