Total pages in book: 331
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 315585 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1578(@200wpm)___ 1262(@250wpm)___ 1052(@300wpm)
The man’s screams grow louder, and he fights the rope harder. I look down at him, still smiling, and touch his cheek as he tries to pull away from me.
“Nice work,” Haidyn states, looking over the hack job I did stitching the Lord up.
“Practice makes perfect.” I grab the pleats of my black skirt and curtsy. I look at Kashton and wink at him. Fuck, I’m trembling, but trying my best to play it off. Reaching up, I tap the side of the tied-down Lord’s face and say, “If you’re lucky, I’ll come visit you in hell.” With that, I walk across the cathedral and out the side door into the hallway.
Rushing into the office, I close the door behind me and take a deep breath, finally able to breathe.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This can’t be happening. The past always catches up with you. If I’ve learned anything from the Lords, it’s that we’re all on borrowed time.
I lock the door and rush over to the desk, picking up my cell with trembling hands. I call the number that I ignored earlier. He’s the only one who could be connected to the two Lords who are on the other side of the door.
“Eve?” he answers immediately. “Everything okay? I called you—”
“Kashton and Haidyn just showed up at the cathedral,” I explain, falling into the chair with my eyes on the office door, waiting for one of them to kick it down.
“Why?” he asks.
“To pick up a Lord.” He doesn’t say anything about that. “Did you send them?” I demand. Maybe that’s why he was calling me earlier. To give me a heads-up.
“No. Of course not.” There’s a long pause. “Did either one say anything to you?”
“No.” I sigh. Thank God. “But I have a feeling one of them will be back.”
KASHTON
Twelve years old
I step off the elevator and shiver. It’s always so cold down here. I hate being cold.
Moans and whimpers hit my ears, but I’m used to that. It scares me when it’s quiet. That’s when your mind makes you think you hear things that don’t exist.
Walking past the pits, I look around to make sure my father isn’t down here. He’s usually in his office at this time of day.
Coming up to the first cell on the right, I stop and sit down, crossing my legs. I look through the bars to see the woman lying on her side. Her back is to me, and she’s curled up in a ball. She has to be freezing. I tried to give her my jacket last week, but she refused it. Said I needed it more than her.
There’s one old dingy light bulb that gives the room a little light. It has four concrete walls. They’re all covered with white lines—four run up and down, and then a fifth one is diagonal through the center.
“I brought you something to eat,” I whisper, placing the plate next to me. I pick up the cookie and squeeze it between the bars, holding it in my hand. “Are you hungry?”
She doesn’t move or answer.
I look around nervously, making sure my father or the other brothers aren’t down here. My dad will be furious if he catches me. And the others will definitely tell on me.
I tap my free hand on the cold concrete floor, trying to get her attention, and she groans, shifting. “Kashton?” she whispers.
I smile. “Yeah. It’s me. Are you hungry?”
She rolls over before she sits up. Her hands go to her face, and she pushes her matted hair back. I notice that she has a new bruise on her cheek. It wasn’t there when I visited her two nights ago.
“What happened?” I ask, frowning.
She gives me a small smile, scooting closer to the door. The metal bars are close together so I have to bring her things that can fit between them. “What did you bring me?” she asks, ignoring my question. She never answers.
“Chocolate chip cookie,” I say, holding it out to her.
She takes it in her frail hands and brings it to her cracked lips. Taking a small bite, she nods. “Mmm. It’s good.”
I drop my head and whisper, “It’s all I could get.”
“It’s perfect, Kashton,” she assures me.
Looking up, I give her a smile, and she takes another nibble. “I tried to get you some milk, but there wasn’t any.” I’m not sure how I’d be able to get her a glass through the bars, but I’d try for her.
“Why aren’t you at school?” she asks me.
I shrug, not wanting to tell her the truth. I got sent home yesterday for starting a fight. My father was irritated about spending two days with me rather than the fact that I hit a kid. “It’s closed today,” I lie, and she frowns. How does she even know what day it is? She has no windows. No clock. No sense of time.