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)
“If she was on that yacht, then we’ve probably all fucked her.” My father shakes his head, and I fist my hands at the thought of them raping her like that Lord was going to do. “The answer is no.”
“Dad—”
“No, Kashton,” he snaps. “You will not take a whore. She will be a virgin, and I will pick her out.” He places his attention on his computer. Conversation over.
I lie in my bed back at Carnage, staring at the TV, but I don’t hear it. Eve is heavy on my mind.
She doesn’t have the barcode. Could that mean she was telling the truth? I don’t know. Just because Adam’s chosen had one doesn’t mean they all get one. What if that barcode was a breadcrumb for Adam and not Dollhouse itself, and we’re just wrong?
A conversation that night on Bill’s jet comes to mind. “What’s on her inner thigh? What does it say?” Saint asks, looking at the photo of Adam’s chosen tied to the chair.
“It’s a barcode. All slaves at Dollhouse have them,” Bill answers.
Haidyn and I were both forced to kill our chosens. I say forced because it was either that or a life of rape and torture. Sometimes death is all you have.
I made the decision to end her life. Was I wrong? I’ll never know. I remember begging my father for Eve to be my chosen. I’ve never been more thankful that he said no. I don’t know if I would have been able to kill her when Isabella took us in for training.
It’s easy for me to say yes. That I want to think I would save her from such a horrific life, but she wasn’t the bleeding woman who was tied up and naked, begging me to help her.
I’ve been looking for Eve for years, and now here she is. Dropped in my lap like an answered prayer. The only thing is, a Lord doesn’t pray.
I want to question it, but I want her more.
Everett Sinclair will not get away from me this time. If I have to drag her to the basement and leave her chained there like a dog, she will not slip through my fingers. She’ll wear my ring and have my last name.
My father raised me to be a Spade brother, and I will treat her as a prisoner if I have to.
TWELVE
EVERETT
Do you ever feel like you’re supposed to be someone else? I was meant to be a boy. Even the doctors said I’d be a boy. So my father named me Everett.
It’s predominantly a male name. When I was born with a pussy, he decided to keep it.
I’ve gone by Eve for as long as I can remember. It was a hard pill to swallow to find out that I’d never live up to my name’s expectations. Who I was supposed to be. Someone who’d make my father proud. The sad thing is that I wanted to for the longest time. To be what he wanted. To be accepted. I’ve never belonged to someone. I was born for a purpose but ended up being useless. Then I was tossed to the side and raised for evil reasons.
My life would have been different had I been born with a dick. Easier.
At least I like to think so. A woman can dream, can’t she?
There’s a lot of my childhood that I’ve blocked out. Chosen not to remember. But after I tried to end my life the first time, I became useless to our world. So my father gave me away. No, threw me away is more like it.
I spent a year in hell before a man came along and saved me. I’ve called him Dad ever since. He saved my life more than once. I’m lucky he came along when he did. Who knows where I’d be if not for him?
Dead. No questions asked. Because I would have done it differently the next time, and I would have made sure it worked. A person can only take so much before they break. And I’ve been so close to broken that death was the only alternative.
Acceptance is such a weird word. Like why do you need to be accepted? Why do you want to be loved? It’s overrated. Love comes and goes and so do my mood swings. One moment I want to cry my eyes out to an Adele song, thinking I’ll be single the rest of my life, and the next I’m thanking my lucky stars I don’t have to answer to anyone.
Life is all about balance.
Good and evil. Heaven and hell. Crazy and sane.
Why not be both?
Statistics show that more than thirty-six murderers walk past you during your lifetime. Do you ever wonder why they don’t choose you? I do. All the time. Do they choose victims by their looks? How they act? Is it someone they know, or do they pick at random?