Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
The exhilaration of riding sends my blood bubbling like warm champagne through my veins. Vibrations zap through my skin, awakening my nerve endings. Streetlights blur as he pushes the machine beneath us to hit speeds most people would balk at. Not me, I love the rush. The scenery becomes familiar as he slows, pulling off the road en route to the hospital car lot. Maybe he wants to see Red.
Parking the bike, he waits for me to climb down before pulling his helmet off and dismounting. Smirking, he lifts my helmet from my head, placing them both on the back of the bike. “Why are we here? I didn’t take you for the baby type.” I bite my lip, anticipating his answer. Tyler couldn’t wait to have kids. I’d never really wanted them, but the thought of carrying Callan’s one day makes me feel different. That terrifies and thrills me.
His face studies mine. “We’re not here to see Red, Rogue.”
“Then why?” It can’t be for me. My wounds are healing. I roam his features, nervous energy making me jittery. Brushing a hand down my cheek, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Let me show you.” He offers his hand for me to take and my heart leaps.
Taking his hand, I nod my head. “Okay.”
I hope no one got hurt on the run he just returned from. He doesn’t lead us to the emergency department, instead walking along the tall white building with rows of tiny windows to a different entrance.
The long, light blue corridors are like a maze. Cheap artwork and message boards adorn the walls and, despite how big the place is, I feel claustrophobic in here. It’s eerie how empty some parts of the hospital are. Anyone could lurk in these halls. Our shoes echo off the tiles, reminding me of the viewing room where I saw Harley. A cold shiver tingles over my skin, raising goosebumps.
“Why are we here?” His silence is pissing me off.
His footsteps slow outside a hospital room, and my heart rate spikes.
J Cox
Callan opens the door and stands back for me to enter. An older man lies in a hospital bed next to beeping monitors. Silver streaks through his dark hair, a tube is down his throat, and wires come out of him from all over. Gaunt features don’t conceal the fact that there’s an ounce of familiarity to his face.
No way.
“Rogue, meet Jericho, my dad.”
CHAPTER 4
PRESIDENT
Mixed emotions battle within me. Turmoil churns everything up, leaving me fighting for clarity of my own mind. The beeping machines fill my head.
Beep.
He’s alive.
Beep.
He’s alive.
Beep.
He’s alive.
“How?” I take a few steps inside, each one feeling like I have lead in my boots. The lights are so bright, I wince, closing one eye until they adjust.
“We think it was a targeted hit. Not sure who or why, but we didn’t want another attempt while he’s defenseless, so we put out that he didn’t make it.”
That’s precisely what I’d do. No need to kill a man if he’s already dead. My own dad filters through my mind. He didn’t make it to the hospital. A meat wagon came to collect his body, or so it’s been stated. The story has been embellished depending on who’s telling it, but everyone is clear on one thing: my dad was a good man and didn’t deserve getting exterminated—as Kitty would put it. Anger, white hot, consumes me.
“The doctors say it’s up to him now. He’s in a coma.”
This man was president and would have given that order to kill my dad, and he had something to do with Harley. I don’t even realize I’m standing by his bed until Callan shouts my name, shocking me from my daze.
“Let go of the tube, Rogue.” His hand is outstretched, held up like a stop signal, and his body hunches forward slightly. It’s like he’s trying to tame a wild animal.
I dart my gaze to my hand where the breathing tube is clutched tightly in my fist. Tears, warm and salty, slide down my cheeks and fill the cracks of my lips. “He killed Harley.” I choke on the word, sorrow washing over me. No one prepares you for grief, and you never know how you will feel—how you will cope from one hour to the next. Some days I can function, and then in a passing moment, my lungs seize, and I struggle to remember how to breathe.
“Rogue, I promise you, he did not fucking kill her.”
“You can’t promise that. We don’t know.” I’ve left my body. I’m an entity hovering above myself watching. Darkness facing darkness.
“I know. I know him.”
“What about my dad? He would have given the order to kill him. He doesn’t deserve to survive when they didn’t.”
“Listen to me.” I’m shaking all over, losing touch with who I used to be. So much pain is finally overwhelming me. I’m coming unhinged, spiraling into madness, and my thoughts are muddled with anger so intense it’s all-consuming. “You’ve been lied to, Rogue. The Kings didn’t kill your dad or the Devil’s pres.”