Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
“No! Stop it!” I reach up, flailing blindly, and manage to drag my nails down his cheek. I can’t see much in the dark, but the way he hisses in pain confirms that I got him. I can only hope he’s more concerned with the pain than me, and maybe I can break free. That hope is short-lived when he slaps me across the face, making my entire world explode in white-hot pain.
Fear clings to me, and I can barely comprehend what is happening. Knickknacks fall off a nearby table and scatter across the hardwood. The throbbing in my cheek intensifies, and I whimper, trying to force air into my lungs.
Jackson’s deep, enraged voice booms in my ear. “You fucking bitch!”
I need to get away. I have to. I continue to struggle, but it’s futile. Without warning, he shoves me onto the floor. I try to pull myself together, to make a break for the door, scurrying backward, but he’s on me in a flash, his massive body blanketing mine. I flail my legs and push and shove at his chest, doing whatever I can to make him move, but he doesn’t.
“You know I was going to be nice to you. Gentle, even, at least for me. But it doesn’t seem like you want me to be gentle or nice.”
“Please stop! Please. You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re right, I don’t have to. I want to.” I can see the faintest smile on his lips, and I lose it. I sob, grabbing anything I can—pulling his hair, pounding his back, kicking his thighs and ass. It doesn’t stop his hands from shoving my dress up higher and higher with rough jerks.
This isn’t happening. It can’t be.
I start to scream then, thrashing my entire body, doing whatever I can to stop him. He knows this, or at least assumes it, because he wraps one of his hands around my throat and squeezes, cutting off my air supply.
“If you can’t keep quiet, then I suppose you don’t get to come,” he breathes against my cheek, his face filling my vision. Black spots form in my vision, and I wish so badly I’d pass out right this very second. At least then I wouldn’t have to feel his hands on me. Using his free hand, he yanks on my thong, and I hear the fabric rip as I gasp for air. “It didn’t have to be this way…” he whispers against my ear, and those are the last words I hear before it all goes dark.
Chapter 17
Kade
The buzz in the room is deafening.
Everybody standing in front of me is casting me filthy looks. They’re shocked at the bombshell I dropped, but these assholes with skeletons in the closet fear me as much as they want to stay in my pocket, as a Bishop. They know, as well as I know, how much the late Roman Bishop loved information—leverage, he called it.
Emma is already gone, having hopped off the platform and headed, no doubt, to find security the second I wrangled the microphone. It doesn’t matter. I came here for chaos, and I sure as shit got it.
So why do I have this empty, hollow feeling in my chest? I search for Allie in the crowd, more of a habit than a need, but I don’t spot the familiar red of her hair or that fuck-me green dress. Maybe she ran off crying. I wish I felt good about that thought.
Voices are rising, and I can tell a few folks are ready to take matters into their own hands. Time for me to make an exit. The only thing that stops me from grabbing a bottle of whiskey and slipping out the back door is a familiar face appearing at the top of the staircase leading down to the ballroom.
Calder. Fuck. Another guy stands with him, maybe someone who works here. The two of them have a quick, tense conversation before Calder crooks his finger at me. Why not whistle at me like I’m a dog?
I lock eyes with Emma, surrounded by people who might be trying to comfort her or to confirm my statement. It could go either way. Her chin is trembling, and it’s obvious she’s fighting like hell to control herself. At the same time, she’s soaking up the attention.
My job here is done. But now that I’ve seen her, I don’t feel as confident.
Ear-splitting feedback fills the room when I drop the mic, step off the platform, and cut my way through the crowd. I’m surprised nobody spits on me. Instead, they part a path like I’m carrying a disease. Little do they know I am the disease.
And through it all, my brother watches. By the time I’m on my way up the stairs, he’s in the front hall of the country club, where photos of past events line the walls. I bet none of those events were as memorable as the one being held tonight.