Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134531 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 538(@250wpm)___ 448(@300wpm)
I didn’t answer.
The sound of the monitors took up the silence in the room.
Freya sighed and reached over to squeeze my thigh. “Do you think we should call her daughter?”
Now my eyes darted away from Kate to Freya. I tried to read the emotion I saw in her eyes. Fear? But she didn’t flinch back. She was married to Hades. This bitch was not one to spook easily.
Almost anyone else probably would’ve gone running from the room. Old Ladies weren’t just anyone, though. They were one of a kind.
Irreplaceable.
“No,” I ground out.
Her expression was soft, eyes brimming with tears. “Sweetheart, her mother is on life support. Her father…”
Her father was hopefully being tortured by Freya’s husband.
“No,” I repeated. I looked back to Kate. “She would not want Violet to see her like this.”
Kate had lived through fucking hell for her daughter. She loved her with an intensity that radiated from her. She would want to protect her from seeing her in this condition. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to make that or any other decision right now.
But I could.
I would.
Freya’s gaze bore into me, and I knew she was debating over whether to push me on this. It was brave to even consider that. She was doing this ’cause she cared for Kate. Rationally, I knew that.
But there was nothing rational about me right now.
So I prayed she didn’t push it.
She squeezed my thigh one last time.
“Okay,” she stood up. “I’m going to bring a cheeseburger in here and you’re going to eat it. You won’t even have to let her go. I’m pretty sure a badass can manage a cheeseburger one handed.” There was a heavy silence as she stood there, not leaving. “Kate will be pissed if you faint from hunger when she wakes up. It’ll also damage your street cred.”
She lingered for a few moments longer before she walked out. Sometime later—exactly two thousand one hundred and thirty-one of Kate’s heartbeats—she returned with a cheeseburger.
I ate it one handed, holding on to Kate with the other.
KATE
I had been having a lot of weird dreams.
Swiss was in all of them.
He was eating a cheeseburger in one.
In another, he was murmuring something about a heartbeat.
There might’ve been something about him dancing or singing. But that couldn’t have been right.
Each time, he was close enough to smell. My left hand was encased in his dry, firm grip. I ached to squeeze it, to let him know I was there. But I couldn’t reach. I was down too deep, coming in and out. At one time, there was something stuffed down my throat, and I had clawed at it, trying to pull it out.
Swiss was there too. I was reasonably sure he said the word ‘fuck’ at least five times in two sentences.
I’d wanted to smile at that, but I drifted off again.
This latest time, though, I managed to claw my way out.
There were a lot of things going on. Various machines beeping, which I deduced were attached to me as the hospital bed and room came into focus. I must’ve somehow survived Preston trying to beat me to death.
And if I’d survived, there was no way I wouldn’t be in a hospital. I distinctly remember the sounds of my bones cracking, a warmness and fullness in my stomach that I was pretty sure signified internal bleeding.
I assumed I was on drugs since the pain was just under the surface, urgent and overwhelming.
My throat stung. Burned. Like the pits of hell. Whatever drugs they were pumping into me weren’t strong enough to numb that.
Flashes rushed through my mind.
Preston’s hands on my neck, his nostrils flaring. Preston’s furious eyes as they took in the letters on my hip, bulging with fury.
With evil.
Pure evil.
Then there was cold. Empty coldness. The hard ground. Arms around me. Swiss murmuring things. His warmth.
Not much else after that.
My eyelids felt like they were made of cement. Sticky. Heavy. Gritty. It took some time to open them. Considerable effort. And I was tired. Exhausted, really. Even though I surmised I’d just woken up from something resembling a coma.
But I fought against that. I used the hand in mine to grip on to as I pulled myself out. When my fingers flexed around it, there was movement.
“Baby?”
The voice was coarse. Full of anguish. Worry. Hope.
I worked harder to lift my eyelids. The room was blurry at first, so I had to squeeze my eyes shut against the harsh light.
“Countess?” Softer this time. Pleading. The hand holding mine lifted, then his lips pressed on my fingers. “Wake up for me, baby.”
I held on to that.
Swiss came into view. He was leaning forward, our intertwined hands resting against his mouth as if he were in prayer.
He looked rough. There was stubble on his face. I’d never seen him with facial hair. He was religious about his shaving routine. I recalled teasing him about it. Then he skipped it one morning and left me with rashes on my inner thighs.