Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Refusing to let that horrid idea spread in my mind like a rot, I shoved it aside, using the anger still roaring in my gut to distract me from the fear.
“We’d lower a branch,” began Bevan, “but there aren’t any here that are long enough to reach that far down. If you can climb at least halfway …”
“I can manage that.” My knees shook as I took a tentative step. The sharp twinge in my back tore a whimper from my throat.
You’re fine, you can do this.
I pretty much hobbled to the wall as I rubbed my sweaty, dirty palms on my tunic. I could get out of here. I could. It wasn’t the first time I’d fallen into a ditch at Deimos. I’d gotten out of the last one. Though … it hadn’t been this deep. Or dirty. And I hadn’t hurt my back during the fall.
I ground my teeth so hard a shooting pain lanced my jaw. I wasn’t sure I’d ever truly loathed Atticus until this very moment.
Refusing to think about him, I switched my attention back to the wall in front of me. There were plenty of branches, fissures, and boulders to grab onto. I could manage to scrabble my way up, but it was going to hurt something fierce.
I blew out a preparatory breath. Here we go. I propped my foot on a rock—and god, the simple move made my back protest. Clamping my jaw shut against the pain, I gripped two boulders just above my head.
“Maybe someone should go down and get her,” Atticus suggested.
The anger that been clinging to my mood once more sank its nails into me. That dick knew what the consequences of my being saved would be. He wasn’t satisfied with trying to kill me, no, now he was settling for trying to sabotage me.
“I said I’m fine,” I clipped.
Praying none of the rocks would crumble under my weight, I pushed down on the lower boulder as I used the higher ones to pull me upwards.
I held my breath as I cautiously stayed in place. The rocks didn’t move or disintegrate. Relief a warm breeze in my bloodstream, I repeated the pattern. Repeated it again and again and again, ruthlessly ignoring the nauseating twinges in my back.
I was a little over halfway up the ditch when a branch was lowered, thick and sturdy. I looked up, my brow pinching as I saw Reeve and Bevan keeping it steady.
Right now, I was in no mood to put my safety in the hands of any candidate. But at least neither was Atticus.
I grabbed onto the branch and allowed them to pull me upwards. Lear and a few others helped. Atticus’ abrupt participation almost caused me to release the branch, and I would bet that was part of why he’d joined in.
Reaching the surface, I pushed to my feet and immediately took a few unsteady steps away from the ditch, my hand instantly flying to the aching base of my spine.
“You sure you’re okay?” asked Quillen, his brow knit in concern.
“Fine,” I responded, the word something close to a grunt.
“You don’t look it,” Atticus told me, all compassion. Fake compassion.
I pinned him with a hard glare. His mouth tipped up into the tiniest of smirks for the briefest moment. Heat crept up my neck and face as indignation scraped at the thin hold I had on my temper. I would have lunged at the sack of shit if my knees weren’t wobbly and there weren’t several people in my path.
Talon instantly began to check me over, his hands gentle but efficient; no doubt searching for injuries. Any other time, I would have stepped away from him. Right then, my focus was on Atticus. So much so that I didn’t take in the words of the others around me—no one else held my interest.
“It’s good that you’re all right,” Atticus told me, sounding ever so genuine. “We tried to pull you up but …” Again, he flashed me that flicker of a smirk.
I balled up my hands so tight my nails bit into my palms. The sting did nothing to distract me from the anger he’d once more rekindled. My skin fairly crawled with it.
“You let me go,” I accused, a shake in my voice—a voice thick and gritty with a barely suppressed need for violence.
His face wrinkled, as if in confusion. “I’m sorry?”
I flicked my chin up. “You let go of my hand. On. Purpose.”
Silence fell as my accusation landed like a bomb.
He recoiled in feigned horror. “What? No. We tried to help you.”
“Bevan did. Not you.”
Atticus’ eyebrows slowly drew together as if he were struggling to process my words. He glanced from Bevan to Seneca. “Back me up here. I did my best to help pull her up.”
I agreed, “Yes, you did. Until you didn’t. You had a good grasp on my hand, but you purposely let it slide out of your grip.” I felt my nostrils flare. “You thought that fall would kill me. Bet you’re somewhat disappointed that it didn’t.”