Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“Fuck, Slater. You know better than that,” he grunts as though my actions were the direct reason for what happened here tonight. “How could you be so reckless? Tell me exactly what happened.”
I resist knocking every last one of his teeth out of his fucking mouth. “As I said, I handled it. That’s all you need to know,” I confirm. “He is no longer a problem. Now, as for anyone else you should be looking into, I’m not sure. Harper has issues with her mother, and while the narcissistic bitch certainly enjoys sinking to new lows, she wouldn’t have done this.”
“No one else has it out for her?”
I shake my head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
Gray narrows his gaze on me again. “And you said you had left the station at four?”
“The fuck are you asking me, Gray?”
“Just trying to narrow the suspect pool.”
“Station surveillance. Dash cam and GPS tracking in my truck. Home security. My every move has been accounted for over the past forty-eight hours. Take me off your fucking suspect list before I have to rattle your brain for even suggesting that I could have anything to do with hurting my woman.”
His hands fly up in surrender. “You know how it goes, Slater. Just doing my job.”
I scoff. “Right.”
Gray finds some bullshit excuse to move away, and as he does, I turn my attention back to the bloodstains on the concrete before following the little numbered yellow evidence cones, moving from one to another and searching for anything they might have missed during their initial comb-through of the crime scene. If there’s something here to find, then I’ll be the one to find it.
Gray used to be an incredible detective. Ten years ago, when he was still trying to prove himself, he’d be closing cases left, right, and center, but since Blackstone has become overrun by crime, his suspect pool continues to grow right along with his open cases.
He doesn’t have what it takes to find a ghost, nor does he have the motivation to do it. Unlike me. Because no other man would even consider crossing the kinds of lines I would cross just to keep my girl safe. I would stroll through the darkest pits of hell with a fucking smile on my face if she asked me to.
And as I glance back at the massive pool of blood one more time, I know without a doubt that the darkest pits of hell are exactly where the bastard who did this will end up, even if it means putting him there with my own fucking bare hands.
3
HARPER-RAYN
The subtle beep of the heart rate monitor fills my ears as consciousness streams back in full color. My eyes spring open to the clinical hospital room as a frantic gasp escapes my throat.
Memories of lying on the dirty concrete assault my mind as the rhythmic dinging continues, reflecting the fear pounding through my veins.
“Whoa,” a familiar voice says as comforting hands come down over me, one resting on my upper arm, the other so gentle against my waist. “You’re okay, doll. I’ve got you.”
My gaze flicks to Knight’s, my hand immediately coming up and clutching his where it lingers on my upper arm. My nails claw into his skin, my chest heaving as I remember my last moments of consciousness in the parking garage. The image of a masked man plunging his knife into my waist blazes through my mind, terrorizing every breath I take.
Tears fill my eyes, and Knight leans over me. His strong forearm is braced on the pillow beside my cheek as his dark gaze lingers just above mine, his lips barely a breath away. “Focus on me, doll. It’s just us,” he tells me. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
My hands tremble as I reach up and touch the side of his face, taking slow, deep breaths as the fear fades from my system. Knight drops his forehead over mine. “You’re okay,” he whispers, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s me or him who needs to hear the words more. “You’re okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you now.”
Tears fall from my eyes, cascading down the sides of my cheeks and soaking into the pillow. Without hesitation, Knight slips into the hospital bed beside me and gently pulls me into his strong arms, holding me against his warm chest as the tears run their course.
“I-I’m sorry,” I try to get out past the heaving cries. “I tried to . . . I tried, but I—”
“Shhhh,” he soothes, his hand circling my back. “It’s okay. You’re alive and in my arms, and that’s all that matters.”
Every horrid second of the attack assaults my mind, playing on a constant loop and refusing to fade, even after the tears have finally begun to dry up and my loud, gasping heaves have morphed into gentle, shaky breaths.