Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
A heaviness weighs over me. Zeph has been feeling a lot of guilt about everything that went down. He blames himself for bringing Jordan into our lives, but it’s not as though he knew that was going to happen. He’s not at fault and shouldn’t have to shoulder that burden, but no matter how many times I tell him that I don’t blame him, it doesn’t seem to help. It’s just one of those things he’s going to have to work through on his own.
“Don’t get me started on that shit,” Chloe tells him. “You know damn well that none of this is your fault.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, making me roll my eyes. It’s the same cycle every day. Only some days it’s me who rats him out, while other times it’s Caesar.
Zeph starts by taking out the trash bags we’ve already filled, and just having them gone from the apartment makes a huge difference. Between the three of us, things start moving pretty quickly.
We’ve been here for almost three hours when a text comes through on my phone, and as I see Caesar’s name on the screen, a stupid smile pulls across my lips.
Caesar: I hope you’re not doing too much.
Tilly: The only thing you need to be concerned about me doing is you tonight.
Caesar: I don’t know, hellcat. You’re still healing. I don’t want to hurt you.
Tilly: I’M DYING HERE! Quit depriving me. It’s either going to be you or the monster cock in my bedside drawer. Take your pick.
I laugh to myself as I hit send before striding into my bedroom and letting out a heavy sigh. It’s so much worse than I remember. My bed is destroyed, shredded to pieces, while most of my clothes are strewn across the room. But the dried blood staining the floor is what really gets me.
A chill sails down my spine as memories of finding Jordan in my room assault me. The fear of not knowing what was going to happen and the pain of that baseball bat smacking across my head . . . shit. That moment has nothing on the terror I felt in that storm cellar, yet it’s what sticks with me most.
My phone chimes again, and I welcome the distraction.
Caesar: Fuck.
Caesar: Do you think you could handle Vixen tonight? Nothing too much. Just you and me. And nothing crazy. I’m not risking hurting you.
Tilly: Now we’re talking! Should I bring the whips and chains, or should you?
Caesar: Don’t push your luck!
The most moronic grin tears across my face, and I’m not too ashamed to admit that I might have also just fist-pumped the air. Caesar has been cautious with me for the past twelve days. Too cautious. To put it bluntly, he won’t fuck me. And damn it, this girl needs to be railed.
I get it. The doctor said it could take up to six weeks for my body to completely heal from the ordeal, but it’s not as though I had surgery or anything like that. My bruises are basically a road map across my body, telling him where he can and cannot touch, but for the most part, they’re gone now. I am more than okay to be thrown around again. In fact, I demand it. It’s an integral part of my survival, because if I don’t get to feel him inside of me soon, I think I might actually die.
My whole mood has shifted, and as I get back to work, I hear Zeph on the phone in the living room. I try to tune him out, but I quickly realize he’s talking about Jordan, and I get back to my feet before hovering in my bedroom doorway.
“Who’s he talking to?” I ask Chloe, my gaze shifting between the two.
“It’s the hospital,” she tells me.
“Shit.”
I suck in a breath and watch as Zeph collapses onto the destroyed couch, the phone braced against his ear as his elbow drops to his knees. “Right, thanks for the update,” he says before ending the call.
His head immediately drops low between his shoulders, his phone falling away from his ear. He takes a deep breath, and as Chloe crosses the room and sits down beside him, he glances up, locking his haunted stare on mine. Zeph shakes his head, looking torn. “He didn’t make it,” he says, his voice cracking. “Jordan’s dead.”
“Fuck.”
I drop to my knees in my bedroom doorway, unsure how to feel.
He was a complete psychopath and needed to be dealt with, but I was hoping he would wake up and be sentenced to life behind bars, not handed a death sentence. But this is what I pushed for. His death is on my shoulders. Caesar might have been the one delivering the hits, but if it hadn’t been for me pushing him, Caesar would have held back. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to risk everything he’d worked for, for the life that he’d built. And now . . .