Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
It wasn’t quick work, and even the unsharpened edge managed to slice into my skin a bit until I felt the snap that said I was free.
I heard Cameron coming back then, so I tucked my knife under my leg and twisted the zip tie until it looked like I was still bound.
He was pacing, raking his hands through his hair, ranting and raving to himself about his crew, the town, Perish, on and on.
They were the ramblings of a half-crazed, desperate man. A man who never would have been strong enough to start his own crew. He knew it, too. It was why he had to take one that had been temporarily handed to him then try to murder the man who’d saved him time and time again.
The attack on Perish’s character was relentless.
Enough that I eventually started to mouth back.
But weak men hated any threat to their power.
Cameron stalked toward me, cocked back, and swung.
It was then that something crashed hard.
And I knew.
I knew I was safe.
Someone had come for me.
Inwardly, I prayed it was Perish as Cameron turned and ran, a roar rising in his throat.
I couldn’t see from my position on the floor, but it was only a beat or two before the space was filled with the unmistakable sound of fists hitting flesh.
I scrambled for the knife then propped it between my knees, holding it as still as possible as I ran my arms up and down the serrations, wincing at the sounds that seemed to grow more brutal with each passing moment.
It seemed like it might never happen.
And then… the snap.
Hope surged.
Until I heard the shots.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Gracie
I knew that when gunshots were ringing out, what you were meant to do was stay low, make yourself small, become less of a target.
But someone I loved was out there.
So I shot to my feet at the first shot.
I was standing there to watch the second bullet rip into Perish’s body, making him jerk, stumble.
But he recovered even as blood bloomed through his shirt. Then charged forward again toward his old protégé.
The third bullet had him dropping to his knees.
And Cameron?
Cameron closed in, aimed higher.
“No!” I shrieked, throwing myself over the counter and tackling him to the ground.
I heard the gun fall and slide, hopefully out of reach.
That was fine.
I didn’t need a gun.
My aunts had busted their asses to teach me that my own body was a weapon.
I found that when I was fueled with terror—not for myself, but for someone I loved—I was ready to be a lethal one.
I scrambled on top of Cameron in a mounting position, all my weight pressed to his chest, my legs pinning his arms to his sides.
Normally, this was when my aunts would tell me to go for soft targets: eyes, nose, ears. Or, if I had the strength advantage, to close my hands around his throat and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.
But I was seeing red.
Red blood.
Soaking through Perish’s shirt.
Draining out of his body.
I didn’t go for soft targets.
I went for the hardest one around.
I grabbed the sides of Cameron’s head, yanked up, then slammed down.
Down.
Down.
The sick crack of his skull against the cement was drowned out only by a deep, feral scream.
I didn’t know where it was coming from.
Not until hands seized me, yanking me backward.
“We got it, baby, we got it,” my father told me as the sound died. The ache in my throat said it had been coming from me all along.
I saw movement as men swarmed in beside us as my father kept pulling me back.
“No!” I shrieked, yanking against his hold. “No! Let me go! Let me the fuck go!”
It was probably the uncharacteristic curse that had my father releasing me.
I flew forward toward Perish’s body, all the first aid training classes coming back to me without thought. I shoved my hands hard against the areas where the blood was most accumulated.
Perish hissed, but that was good. It meant he was conscious. It meant we could save him.
“I’m okay,” he assured me. But, God, I’d never heard his voice so weak.
“You’re shot,” I said, sniffling hard. It was only that sound that made me realize I was crying. Tears flooded down my cheeks, slid off my chin.
“Not my first time.”
“You can’t die,” I whispered, leaning down so no one else could hear me. “I need you not to die. I need… I need you.”
“No!” I yelled when hands grabbed me again.
“We need to get him to a hospital,” Fallon’s voice said.
“It’s okay,” Perish assured me, but his voice was getting even weaker. “Go with your dad.”
The choice was taken away from me then.
My father wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me away as I kicked and writhed.
I watched helplessly as Fallon, Voss, Uncle Reign, and Uncle Malcom grabbed Perish and carried him quickly out of the building.