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)
“Are you going to kill Tyler?” I find myself asking. My skin prickles. The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I don’t know how I feel about Tyler going to ground.
“We’re not talking about that right now.” Callan strokes a hand across my forehead.
“I have to.”
“Rogue, you’ve been through so fucking much lately and wouldn’t see the doctor after what happened with Larkin.”
My eyes spring open. I scan the room, fearful someone will hear him. We’re still alone in a private room, four blue walls and just us two.
“You’re worrying over nothing. I’m just tired and hungry. It’s been a long day.”
“I shouldn’t have made you come here.” He tortures himself, scrubbing his hands down his face before folding his arms.
“Jericho has the answers, Callan. You can’t make me do anything; I chose to come. He knows what happened to her.” I attempt to pull the sheet away again, but he stops me, holding it in place.
“He’s not going anywhere. The answers will still be there once you’ve gotten some rest.”
“Harley doesn’t even own a gun.” I can’t picture it. Harley had a quick temper, but she was harmless. “She would mouth off to a grown man, but to shoot him…”
“We don’t know what we’re capable of until we’re in the moment. You know that better than anyone.” He bares his teeth, his fist clenching at the memories angering him.
“He must have provoked her,” I surmise.
“Maybe.” He nods.
“If he killed her, I’ll kill him, Callan. Blood for blood.” I sound pathetic from my hospital bed, weak and woozy. But I won’t stay this way. I’ll get strong. He will feel my wrath. “It’s the way we live. You know that.”
“Don’t talk that shit out loud. Let’s find out what happened before we start planning my dad’s murder.” Irritation sparks in his eyes, a bolt of lightning bursting through a starless sky.
“Will you kill me?” I mutter, my fingers clutching the material of the sheet.
“What?” he asks, his posture stiffening.
“If I kill him,” I clarify.
“Stop, Rogue. Your mind is going a mile a minute. You’re angry and in shock.”
“Will you kill me? Could you?” I urge, grabbing his forearm as he attempts to move away.
“Fuck.” His brow crashes. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “I’d rather cut my heart from my chest. I could never hurt you. You should know that.” Grasping my chin between his fingers and thumb, he shakes his head. “My heart belongs to you. I want to spend my life loving you. I’m in deep, Rogue. You’re my life. To kill you is to kill me.”
Emotions squeeze my throat. Tears prick my eyes, burning like lava. “I love you too.” The words are so small, measly, nothing compared to the gravity of the feelings inside me. I’d need a hundred pages to write down all the ways I want to love him for the rest of our lives.
“I’m just thinking out loud.” I sniffle. The dam bursts, and water overflows. Emotions flood like a tidal wave, crashing against the walls I’d constructed to keep myself functioning.
“Don’t cry,” he begs. I grab handfuls of his shirt, burrowing my head into his chest and absorbing his scent, his safety. Sobs vibrate through me as I come undone. “Fuck, you’re killing me.” He climbs onto the bed, curling my body into his. “Shhh…It’s going to be okay. I’m here. You’re not alone anymore.”
I cry until no more tears are left and I’m just a husk. Exhaustion douses me so rapidly that my eyes close of their own fruition. I don’t dream. There’s just a dark abyss.
Movement drags me from my slumber. Callan’s no longer on the bed with me. He’s sitting in a chair by my bedside, one leg crossed over the other with his ankle resting on his knee and his hands clamped on the armrests.
“Is it okay if we call you Rogue, or do you prefer Princess?” The nurse from before is back, standing with a younger woman with a tray next to her. Callan must have given her my information.
“Rogue is fine.” I push myself into a sitting position.
“I’m Wendy, and this is Laura. We’re going to put you on a saline drip and take some blood. Do you have any allergies we should know about?”
“No.” I look over at Callan. He anxiously bites his bottom lip.
“Okay. Have you been feeling unwell or had any falls or accidents recently that we should be aware of?” Wendy asks, placing a blood pressure strap around my arm. She presses the button on the machine until the cuff squeezes my arm to the point of pain. The air disperses with a hiss, and she unstraps it, jotting the numbers down on her chart.
“No falls.”
“Yes, she has,” Callan pipes in. My lips purse.
“When?” Wendy raises a brow.
“Last week, she took a spill off a motorcycle.” He leans forward, steepling his hands. Larkin.