Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Ignoring me, she keeps screaming and her words are quickly losing any semblance of coherence. She’s hollering for all she’s fucking worth at the guy on the ground, and when I hear the name Mikhail in her screams, I now know what the fuck just happened.
The Russians have finally come to Kentucky.
“Allie,” I shout at her again while wrapping my arms around her waist.
Yanking her up and away from the man who’s now out cold, I wrestle her around in the air as she keeps kicking at some invisible foe, all the while screaming nonsensical words.
Fuck, I had no clue Allie could fight as well as she does though. She keeps kickin’ and tryin’ to claw her way out of my embrace.
She’s not Allie right now. No, she’s that hurt woman who ran from her tormentor. She’s the woman who’s been beaten, raped, and mentally fucking broken for the last however many years she was under his thumb.
Shaking her back and forth, I twist her around to face me as I feel her range of emotions finally clicking over to tears of rage.
Now that she’s not going to accidentally beat the fuck out of me, I kiss her cheeks and bring her hands up, clasped between my own fingers. Her tears are hot and salty as she tightly closes her eyes. Even with her eyes closed though the tears keep leaking out of her.
It’s like she’s some kind of faucet that doesn’t know it can turn off yet.
Pulling us to the wall closest to us, I sink to the floor as she weeps into my arms.
“Coy… Robert, oh my god!” she wails as she starts clawing her way back out of my arms, headin’ for the guy passed out in the chair.
Fuck. Dude’s got knives sticking out of him in all kinds of places, and that shit don’t fucking look good.
“Grem,” I shout as loud as possible.
“Here,” Grem says as he comes through the door. “Everything’s good outside, but Graveyard’s on patrol. Gonna keep us locked down.”
Moving to get beside Robert, I ask Allie, “Who is he, baby?”
“He’s my uncle,” she says with new tears leaking down her cheeks. “He’s… he’s dying.”
“Grem, see what you can do,” I say and then look over to Whitey. “Get on the phone with the Sheriff, we need this place locked out. I don’t want anyone comin’ in here except the Bastards.”
“On it,” Whitey says.
Grem moves over to Robert and starts gently probing around the knife wounds.
I have to pull Allie away. She’s only going to be in the way now.
“Poster, secure that motherfucker,” I say pointing to Mikhail. “We’re gonna need his ass soon.”
Nodding his head, Poster Boy starts laughing and points to the fucker’s feet. “Don’t think we’ve got much to worry about there. Allie took care of it.
“Jesus, Allie Cat,” I say with a laugh as I pull her to a standing position.
That’s some damn good aim. She was a natural with a gun back in the day when I taught her at the range…
Looks like she hasn’t forgotten everything.
“He… he deserved it,” she says through her tears as she keeps looking at Robert.
“I hate to be a burden,” Jude says quietly and it’s like a shadow just moved.
He simply faded into the background, watching everything.
Looking over to him, I want to fucking shoot him between the fucking eyes for putting Allie in danger, but right now I’m bettin’ he kept her out of more danger than I know.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask him.
“Your friend there,” he says, pointing to Poster Boy. “Interrupted your wife’s and my plans of attack. Things would have gone a bit smoother, I think, if we had more time.”
“Your plans of attack?” I growl out to him.
Raising one hand up to ward off my anger, he says, “I believe it would have gone a lot smoother than well… this. Allie wasn’t supposed to leave the van.”
Nodding my head, I look down to Allie. “Was that you who ran over two guys?”
Looking up into my eyes, she says, “Yeah, things didn’t go exactly as planned. They were torturing—"
“Again,” Jude says, interrupting her. “I hate to be a bother, but I may need help.”
“With what?” I ask him.
I never really looked at Jude when I came in the house. Just took an assessment of the situation and moved on. He wasn’t a threat.
Now looking at him, I can spot something is wrong. He’s got a hand inside of his suit jacket and the other is starting to tightly clutch the window frame.
More telling though is that his face is sweaty as can be and he’s turning pale white.
Jude never fuckin’ sweats.
Letting Allie stand on her own for a moment, I move over to him and frown. “You got hit.”
“I guess it was more than a minor flesh wound,” he says when he pulls his hand out of jacket.