Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
He had always been careful when telling us war stories, not wanting to get too gory on the details. But everyone else talked. And Iggy and I had a tendency to eavesdrop when we had sleepovers at the clubhouse.
There was the war, of course, and an untold number of bodies in the wake there.
There had been the time he saved my mom.
More bodies.
There was a story I caught bits and pieces of about there being a rat in his club and how he had handled it out in the back shed before the shed blew up one day, taking all the evidence of the bloodshed with it.
He had lived a very different life than most people. He was in charge of a ton of men who had lived similarly colorful lives. He didn't regard it the same way my mom and some of my aunts and even a few of my uncles would.
That didn't mean, though, that he had to like it.
Because no matter what, I was his little girl. Even if I had been on my own since I was sixteen.
So of course he wasn't going to let me go off on a job on my own. Not when he knew that was where I was going. Not when he had twenty or so men at his beck and call, ready to lay down their lives if he asked it of them.
That said, why would he send Vance? When West was clearly more likely handle such a unique situation? I didn't know his history per se, but it sounded like he had known his fair share of knock-down-drag-outs.
Vance was a biker. I was sure he did drops. He might have even dealt with some sticky situations, but things were relatively calm with the MC. There were no bodies hitting the ground. Vance was the last person who should have been coming with me.
Especially on this particular job.
This one—this was going to get bad.
Blood was going to paint the walls, make a river of the halls.
That is if I had anything to say about it.
This was the big one. The one I had been trying to pin down almost from the beginning. These men were the worst of the worst.
This would be ugly.
It was going to make me ugly.
Because I wasn't just doing a job, exacting a cold sort of revenge.
Oh, no.
I was going to enjoy this.
I was going to fucking love this.
I was going to take actual physical pleasure in pressing my blade into their throats, hearing them beg for mercy, then sinking that blade in, slowly, so fucking slowly, refusing them any fucking mercy.
They didn't deserve it.
I didn't want anyone to be a part of that.
But most especially, I didn't want Vance to be a part of that. To see me like that. To know just how dark I could get, how much joy I could gain from doing something so unimaginable.
I knew that Vance was still seeing the old Ferryn when he looked at me. And maybe there was more of her still hanging around than I realized, but this was a surefire way to show him just how much I wasn't like that anymore.
A part of me hated the idea that he would see the real me. And therefore, never be able to look at me again. At least not like he had looked at me the night before in bed. With sweetness. With tenderness. Like I was someone that could easily be loved, someone who could accept that kind of softness.
"He asked me because he knows I care about you. But I would want to come regardless."
"I don't want you to come."
"I'm afraid that is not going to be a factor."
"You don't know where I'm going. I could lose you—What?" I asked when he smirked.
"On that?" he asked, waving to my bike. "I mean, maybe you could lose me in some nondescript black sedan. But not on a bike."
"Vance, listen, this is going to be bad."
"All the more reason for me to be there. I'll have your back."
I won't lie, someone having my back on this one wouldn't be terrible. But that someone being Holden, who knew already how brutal I could be, how I could turn into a wild animal. Someone who turned into one himself so he didn't judge me for my claws and teeth.
Short of that, I would rather take my chances alone.
"You don't understand," I hissed, feeling a completely humiliating sting at the backs of my eyes. Like I was going to friggen cry. I never cried.
"Hey, help me understand then," he demanded softly, snagging my chin, forcing me to face him.
I swallowed hard, something that forced the lump out of my throat, letting all the words tumble out unbidden, unfiltered, raw and real.
"I don't want you to see me like that!"