Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 838(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
“Sounds nice, what’d you get?” Max asks before his eyes finally land on my dress.
And the sandwich nearly drops from his mouth. “Wow.”
“A couple of outfits and dresses as you can see.” Heath holds up the bags, but Max still won’t look at him and eyes me up and down instead.
“Where’s Cora?” I ask in a hurry.
“Taking a nap in her own bed. I wore her out with games,” Max replies, smiling. “Don’t worry, she’s as safe as can be.”
Silas steps in. “Heath, flaunting your goddamn money doesn’t warrant going out there in broad daylight without a fucking weapon,” he grits. “And she is not prepared.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Silas grabs my arm and drags me across the floor to the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Fine, I’ll bring some weapons next time if that will ease your conscience,” Heath yells, but Silas ignores him as he hauls me all the way upstairs and through the corridors.
“Silas!” I grit, but he still refuses to tell me, so I jerk free of his grip right as we enter a room.
A whole goddamn room filled with weapons.
My eyes bulge as I turn and look around at the multitude of knives, guns, clubs, whips, and all the sharp tools one could need for a job called murder.
Jesus Christ.
“What is this place?”
“Our weaponry.”
“That sounds medieval,” I jest even though I know this is no fucking joke.
“As medieval as the torture that’s dished out by the people we kill,” he says, ripping a big-ass knife off the shelves. “I kill for sport, but most of my victims … they’re the worst kind of criminals who don’t deserve to see the daylight.” He turns toward me, pointing the knife at me. “And those are the kind of fuckers after you right now.”
I gulp.
He flips the knife over and holds the handle out to me. “Take it.”
“And then what?”
A devilish smirk forms on his face. “We train.”
Max
The moment the door to the weaponry closes, I turn around and walk back into the kitchen, determined to finish that goddamn sandwich. They might’ve eaten breakfast already, but man was I busy entertaining Cora while they went off to shop. She is one goddamn tornado.
I wore her out with some much-needed races up and down the stairs by pretending to be a crook while she played the cop before she finally collapsed in her bed again. The little munchkin really didn’t get enough sleep yesterday. Or maybe she just likes taking naps to get her energy back up. Who knows.
“I don’t care what Silas says, I spoiled Ivy, and I’m damn proud of it.”
Heath’s voice behind me makes me stop chewing my sandwich immediately.
“She needed the escape, and I needed the release.”
The release?
My throat feels clamped shut as my heart sinks into my shoes. “You fucked her?”
I ask the question before I even dare to look at him. But the smug smile on his face confirms my thoughts.
“Her pussy was so goddamn wet for me …” he growls as he steps closer and closer, removing the space between us. “And when she came all over my goddamn cock, she screamed my name. Not yours. Mine.” He taps my chest so hard I flinch.
“I …” I swallow. “If she wanted it, who am I to stop you?”
His brows furrow even more. “What?”
“You two made that deal with her,” I say. “I can’t stop you. I won’t.” I push back the tears. “But if you’re trying to make me jealous, job well done.”
I waltz off and head into the game room where the bar is, and I grab myself the scotch I never go for and pour one out, downing it in one go. I cough and heave, but the burn is not enough to quench the fire raging in my chest.
The giant TV in the back crackles from the fake fire being displayed on it while I just try to breathe.
Breathe, Max. Breathe.
CHAPTER 43
Ivy
I chuck the knife at the board in the back of the room but miss, and the knife clatters to the floor.
Silas picks it up with a smug smile. “Again.”
“How many more?” I ask.
His brow rises. “Until you hit the center.”
“Why? I already know how to hit a fucker with a knife. I’m not afraid to hurt people,” I reply.
“Hurt, yes. Kill?” He makes a face as he hands it back to me. “Doubt it. Now try again.”
Sighing, I accept the knife from him, but the moment our fingers touch sends electrical currents up and down my spine. I brush them off and focus on the board in the back, the center feeling more like an eye staring right back at me.
He comes to stand behind me and suddenly grips my arm, lifting it. “Higher.”
I try to focus, but it’s hard with him breathing down my neck.
“Center yourself.” He kicks my legs open. “Spread them.”