Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Baptist follows him. I go after them, trying to come up with something to say. I hold the script up and Cowan catches my eye, and a smile breaks across his face, like he just won the lottery.
The fucking snake.
Baptist stands in front of him, trembling with rage, while Rodrick’s sitting on the bed with a rubber band around his arm and the needle still lying on a book, which means we interrupted their morning dose.
“Tony, come on,” Rodrick says. “Deal with your unhappy producer later. This is more important.”
“Right you are,” Cowan says, turning back to the drugs, but Baptist grabs his shoulder and yanks him away with a snarl.
Cowan looks genuinely surprised. I’m not sure what the bastard thought would happen, but he clearly didn’t expect this.
“How did you get that manuscript?” Baptist’s voice is low and steady.
Cowan smirks and tilts his head. “What do you mean? I wrote it. Don’t you like it?”
“How, you piece of herpes-ridden garbage?”
“The magic of creativity.” Cowan laughs softly and glances at me. “Some would call it the Muse. Isn’t it magical?”
“Why?” Baptist whispers, his hands balled into fists. “Why, you bastard?”
“Because I wanted to.” Cowan’s voice is soft and smooth as silk.
Baptist slams his fist into Cowan’s face. His knuckles connect with the old man’s nose with a sickening crunch and blood spurts down his mouth and stains the front of his shirt in a warm gush. He staggers back, groaning, covering his face with both hands, trying to stem the bleeding. Baptist walks to him as if in a dream and cocks his arm back, ready to hit him again.
When Rodrick throws himself forward with a scream.
The two men tangle into each other. I shout at them and try to break them up, but as Baptist jerks his arm back, he bashes his elbow into my eye.
I gasp and stagger back, groaning as pain flares through my skull. I see black and stars flare at the edges of the sight, curling in toward the center like melting steel. I drop to my knees, holding my face as tears leak out and roll down my cheeks. I don’t mean to cry right now but, my god, it hurts so fucking bad, and I’m so emotional and fucking pregnant and goddamn it, I hate that this is happening. I sob, cradling my face, and the shouting stops as everyone stares at me.
I look up through the tears and Baptist is standing there, a horrified look on his face. Rodrick is helping Cowan, making sure he’s okay, but Baptist is frozen and can’t seem to move.
“It’s okay,” I say through the tears. “It’s okay, I’m okay, don’t worry. You didn’t mean to.”
“I hurt you.” His voice is small. “Blair. I hurt you.”
“You didn’t mean to.” My first instinct is to make him feel better. I know it was an accident—he’d never hit me on purpose and it only happened because I got in the middle of their fight—but the horror in his eyes is soul-crushingly painful, especially after everything he’s been through already.
“Blair.” He takes a step toward me, reaching out.
“Go ahead, touch her,” Cowan calls with a sharp, ugly laugh. “Do to her what you did to your father. Ruin her. Destroy her. Drive her into oblivion. That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it, Baptist? That’s what you do with everyone around you.”
I groan in shock, and Baptist stands as if he’s been shot in the back. His body is stiff, tense all over, and he’s staring at me with pure agony in his eyes as his face drains of color. I reach out for him but I feel blood drip from my lip down onto the carpet, and that’s enough to push him over the edge.
He walks past me and leaves, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Goddamn it, Cowan,” Rodrick says with a long sigh. “Could you have done that after giving me the shot?”
“Can’t control timing sometimes, my friend,” Cowan says through his obviously broken nose as he looks at me. “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be chasing after him?”
I slowly get to my feet, head spinning. I have to lean against the bureau to steady myself as the room dips all around me, and I realize I must be hurt worse than I thought.
“Why, Cowan? What the hell are you doing with all this?”
Cowan pushes Rodrick aside and faces me, blood still dripping from his nose. It’s slowing, clotting, but he looks like a demon as he grins manically through the gore, his lips and chin ringed and splattered with it.
“Think about it, suit. You’re a smart girl. Why would I do all this, huh? I want to make a movie, don’t I?”
“None of it makes any sense.” I press my palm against my forehead. Shit, why can’t I think right now?