Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 209489 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1047(@200wpm)___ 838(@250wpm)___ 698(@300wpm)
But I didn’t know how to do that with this.
I was alone, and I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no clue what was going to happen.
The truth was a fucking asshole that didn’t wear a cape. It had a hammer like Thor, but it wasn’t always used for good.
I felt beyond tapped out in the time after The Defender gave me the news about my things being lost as I tried to finally put myself back together and reason out the few options I had left. I told myself over and over and over again that stuff was just stuff and I would still have my loved ones with me always in my heart. After, I told myself that I still had a lot of pictures in my safe deposit box. You know, because of the paranoia of having to leave at a moment’s notice.
What hurt the most was the possibility I might have lost the voice mails my grandparents had left me.
I wasn’t ready to quit being upset, but I didn’t have to totally waste my time either.
What I knew for sure was: There was a small chance I might starve to death. Maybe be tortured. I might be saying goodbye to my organs or a few digits, but I sure as hell hoped not.
Those fuckers had burned my house down. Even if we somehow got out of here, I had nowhere to go because I hadn’t planned far enough ahead. A big chunk of my emergency cash was gone, and I had no access to my bank account.
Basically, I was in a worse situation than I ever could have imagined, and I was trying my best not to give up.
I still had my life. I could figure out the rest if I had a chance.
I sniffled once, then twice, and felt my face scrunching up again. My fucking lip was trembling. And everything hurt.
But if this was the end, at least… at least I wouldn’t be alone—not that this pain in the ass was at the top of my list of people I would prefer to spend my last moments with, but he was still someone.
At least I’d had kind of a… kind of an adventure. A fucked-up one, sure, but I’d chosen it, and it had been with one of the Trinity. Who got to say that? I’d given my life to help someone who had done so much.
If it was going to be a sacrifice, at least it was an honorable one.
It would fucking suck, but it could be worse. Right?
I sniffled again and tried to ease my features into a calm expression but failed.
The house had things that had mattered, but my life still mattered more.
I wouldn’t give up.
I hoped that every single person who had been at my house got hemorrhoids. Internal and external ones. If anything happened to me, I was going to come back from the dead and poltergeist every single one of their asses. None of them were ever going to have sex again if I had anything to say about it. They were never going to have a full night’s rest either.
I didn’t need to have super strength and speed to make someone regret being born.
So yeah, even if I didn’t make it out of here, I was going to ignore that light at the end of the tunnel and haunt these motherfuckers for the rest of their lives. That would be my consolation prize. That would be my new purpose—haunting. I was going to find every person in the cartel and haunt them and their families. Maybe throw some things around. Pull on some feet from under the bed.
Pressing my fingers against my face, I dragged in a big, deep breath that hurt like hell before slowly letting it back out, ignoring the way my body wanted to shake at being so overwhelmed.
“Are you done… throwing a tantrum?” came the deep voice from its spot across the room.
He hadn’t moved an inch since pretty much telling me that everything I knew was gone now.
Grief filled my throat, my soul again….
Then I thought about what had just come out of his mouth.
“I wasn’t throwing a tantrum,” I grumbled, rolling onto my side to find that he had moved. He was sitting up against the wall. His long legs were stretched out, and his arms were crossed on his chest. His breaths were deeper than they had been.
But he was still in pain. I could tell from the tightness at the corners of his mouth.
“You were throwing a tantrum,” he insisted, sliding his gaze over to me.
“No, I wasn’t,” I muttered, grumpier than hell but trying to be decent. Because none of this was his fault. It really wasn’t. I knew it.
“Yeah, you were. All that crying… and sniffling?” He made a dismissive sound. “Disgusting.”