Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Shoving off the bed, I smooth my hands down the front of my pants and give her one last look, my heart squeezing in my chest. I turn on my heels and walk out of the room, my insides twisting painfully, my heart urging me to stay with her. The person I’d rip my still-beating heart out of my chest for. I don’t. I continue walking, heading back to The Mill, hoping to be greeted by a quiet house. The only way to get Bel back is to get rid of my father, and I’ll do anything to make that happen.
A hand drags me out of bed, ripping me from sleep, and my eyes pop open, my fists clenched and swinging. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, and I peer up at the light shining in my eyes. It takes me a second to realize where I am.
One of my father's goons stands above me, and my gaze swings to the door where I find another standing. "Get up and get dressed. Your father wants to see you."
I shove off the floor and scramble onto my feet. "Fuck you, asshole. He can call me like a normal fucking human if he wants to talk." I say the words as I move on autopilot, walking straight to my dresser to get clothes. I know firsthand what will happen if I don’t obey, and it’ll be ten times worse if I don’t show up.
It takes me a minute to find clothes, but when I do, I shove my legs into a pair of sweats and grab a sweatshirt. My father’s two goons watch me with impatience as I slip my feet into my tennis shoes. One walks in front of me, while another follows me as they lead me to the waiting car. I climb into the back seat, and they slam the door closed, locking me inside. My gaze moves to the illuminated screen up front, and I notice the time.
Three fucking a.m. Are you kidding me? I don’t know why I’m not surprised. I guess I’d be more shocked if he didn’t make a surprise visit or at least send his goons after me. My stomach is a ball of anxiety that grows worse and worse with each mile the car drives.
Ten minutes later, we arrive at the house, and I’m tempted to stay in the car hiding, but there’s no way my father wouldn’t have one of his asshole guards pull me out of the vehicle by my hair. So I begrudgingly leave the protection of the car and walk up the steps and into the house. The house is quiet, too quiet. Fuck me, this isn’t going to be good.
I drag my feet the entire way to his office, one guard in front of me and another behind me, making sure I shuffle along like a good little boy. When we reach the double doors that lead into his office, I exhale. The guard shoves the doors open and then moves to the side, each taking their spots on opposite sides of the doorway. I suck a shuddering breath into my lungs and enter his office slowly. I barely have time to glance toward the desk when something heavy comes flying my way. Pain rips through my temple, and it hurts enough to bring me to my knees.
Fucking prick.
Blood. It trails down my temple and over my cheek. My stomach churns, and I lift a hand to the spot to make certain it’s blood and not just my imagination. When I pull my fingers away, they’re slick and stained red.
I clench my teeth and scramble to get off the floor. "What the hell?"
Unfortunately, my father is already there, charging across the room, leering in my face. "You ruined it," he spits.
I clutch my head as a wave of dizziness rolls through me, dropping me back onto my ass. God, this is getting old. "What are you talking about? I haven’t done anything wrong. I showed up at your party and played nice.”
His eyes flash with icy rage, and out of nowhere, he pulls a gun, the glint of it shining in the dim light. He waves it around with his finger near the trigger.
"You’re the fucking problem. You ruined it all. You and that cunt. She convinced that arrogant fuck to withdraw his donations. As of two hours ago, Sebastian Arturo has removed all of his assets from the Marshall Group. I doubt your small brain can comprehend how much fucking money that is.”
I want to laugh in his face and tell him I told you so, but practice is the only thing that keeps my face empty of emotion. "What am I supposed to do about it?"
My response isn’t what he wants to hear, and in a flash, he lashes out, slamming the gun into the side of my head. The world spins, and my ears ring. Pain lances across my cheek and the bridge of my nose, but I grit my teeth against it, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my reaction.