Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
But just under that, was that… whimpering?
It was blackout dark right then as I lifted my leg and kicked in the door.
There he was.
All I saw was a bloody knife and him towering over Miranda.
The rest?
Fuck.
All it was inside of me was rage and long-buried skills, the types of skills that made me really, really fucking good at hurting people.
“Brock! Brock!” a voice yelled as hands grabbed at me from behind, making me swat them back. “You have to stop!” the voice tried again, and I was vaguely aware of it belonging to Cam.
Cam, who was watching me beat the ever-loving shit out of his boyfriend.
“Brock, you can’t be with Miranda if you’re in prison,” he reasoned.
That seemed to break through the rage.
Miranda.
Miranda whimpering.
Miranda’s blood on the knife.
Turning back, the last of the rage fell away, making me see clearly again for the first time in what felt like ages.
I was vaguely aware of the sirens, then another voice joining us in the room.
“Okay. We have two minutes before this place is getting swarmed,” Lennon said, calm, collected. “If you have a weapon on you, you need to give it to me now,” he said, speaking to me as I made my way over toward Miranda.
“I don’t,” I said, seeing her bloodied, bruised face. “Hey, sweetheart,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “If you needed some extra attention, all you needed to do was ask. You didn’t have to get yourself all kidnapped,” I added, reaching for the gag at the back of her head, and carefully undoing it.
But then the cops were rushing in, making all of us separate as they tried to assess the situation.
I was pulled over with Lennon after they figured out we had been working a case, questioning us about the details as the EMTs rushed in to look over Miranda and the fuckhead who’d put his hands on her.
They blocked her from my view as they worked on her.
My gaze slid to Cam instead, standing off with another officer, looking shell-shocked and heartbroken at the same time.
He, a lot like Miranda, was always so put together, so in control of himself and his image. It was startling to see him look so wrecked, so broken.
It wasn’t until he rushed away from the cop and toward Miranda that I glanced back as well.
“No, you have to go,” Cam insisted, making me move away from the cop we were speaking to as well.
“I don’t want to go,” Miranda shot back.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“She doesn’t want to go to the hospital,” Cam explained.
“You have to go to the hospital,” I told her, seeing her swollen eye, the cuts on her arms and face. “You have to get looked over.”
Her gaze went to me, watery, scared, and in pain.
“Just a couple hours, baby,” I assured her. “Just to get checked out. Then you can come home. Cam and I will meet you there. Right?” I asked, looking at Cam.
“As soon as we are done talking to the police,” Cam assured her, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. “You have to go,” he insisted again, voice a little firmer.
“Okay,” she agreed, pulling herself together a bit. Cam seemed to have that impact on her.
“We will be right behind you,” I assured her, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple as they came in with the stretcher.
Ritchie was already gone by the time we turned around to watch them roll Miranda out.
“You okay?” I asked, looking over at Cam.
“No,” he answered honestly. But then he was reaching for his phone. “Where are Miranda’s things? She’s going to need her wallet with her medical cards and her phone and charger,” he said, slipping into assistant-mode. Whether that was to assuage any unnecessary guilt he felt, or because it helped him think past his confusion and grief, I had no idea. But I knew a thing or two about coping mechanisms, so I rattled off the information before moving back to finish the questioning with the cops.
Luckily enough for me, Lennon had a long history with one of the cops that was there, so the usual need to have me down to the precinct for questioning was removed, thanks to the active case we were both working on, Mitchell being gagged and stuffed in the trunk, and the clear evidence that Ritchie had been brutalizing Miranda when I’d come in.
“Go see to your girl,” Lennon insisted, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve got the rest of this.”
I didn’t need more than that, I turned and ran.
Somehow, though, Cam managed to beat me to the damn hospital, even after stopping to grab her stuff.
“What’s the word?”
“They are doing some scans right now. We can go in after,” he told me, clicking around on his phone. “I’m clearing her schedule for this coming week,” he explained. “She needs some time off to process this.”