Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
It takes far too long to get myself cleaned up and after finishing in the stall, I realize that it’s going to take a lot more than just a quick wipe down. I make my way back toward the sink and start searching through the cupboard, feeling the greatest relief as I find a packet of baby wipes sitting high on the top shelf, so fucking high that I have to scale the damn cupboard just to reach it.
Knowing that if I take longer than the guys deem necessary, they’ll have no issue barging in here, I do my best to make it quick. I tear the packet of baby wipes open and rip out a handful before scooting my ass back up on the vanity.
Once I have myself feeling brand-new and squeaky clean, I move on to my heels, cringing as the clumps of cum rest right in the bottom of my right shoe. I get busy scooping it all out and go as far as to hold the black stiletto under the hand dryer so that I don’t have to slip my foot back into a wet shoe.
Bracing myself against the sink, I bring my foot up and do my best to wriggle it back into the shoe, feeling a million times better. I switch sides and just as my foot comes up, the bathroom door opens.
Not wanting to be that chick who stares at the others using the facilities, I keep my focus down on my foot, concentrating on being fast so that the boys don’t end up worrying and coming to look for me.
My shoe slides on easily, and as I lower my foot back to the ground, I straighten up and raise my gaze. Only to come up short as two waitresses move in on me. I suck in a gasp, taking no time at all to realize that these aren’t waitresses at all, but Ember and her psychotic bitch of a mother.
Ember holds a dagger in her right hand, a dagger eerily similar to the one I’d used to kill Royston Carver, the very one that not five minutes ago was scooped up by Cruz’s father. Though it can’t be the same one because I refuse to believe that Mr. Danforth would have handed it over to Paris and Ember. He would have guarded it with his life rather than risk seeing one of our most precious heirlooms slip into their hands.
Ember grins wide as she moves around the bathroom, blocking my escape, but despite the dagger in her hands, she’s not my main focus.
Paris holds every ounce of my attention.
The last time we came face to face like this she’d come climbing in through my bedroom window, shocked the shit out of me in the shower, and then tried to stab me. She’s fucking batshit crazy. I’m just lucky that Grayson was able to fight the gas and defied all odds by getting his ass up the stairs and into my room before Paris got the chance to kill me. Though, something tells me that she’s about ready to try her luck again.
She holds something in her hand and my gaze drops, narrowing on the small flip phone. “You’ve gotten away from me far too many times, Elodie Ravenwood,” she mutters, her chin held high as her usually cocky attitude shines through. “But this is the end of the road for you.”
I scoff and start to walk straight past them. “Right,” I laugh. “Good luck with that.”
Paris clenches her jaw but I don’t hang around, intent on getting my ass out of here and calling for the boys to put our plan in motion, but her hand raises higher, holding the old phone up like some kind of trophy. “If you were smart, you wouldn’t take another damn step.”
My brows furrow and I look back at her, hating how she wears my mother’s face. Irritation soars through me and I drop my gaze over her body, searching for any signs that she might have a weapon on her. She’s practically a twig. I could take her easily, but Ember standing at my back with a dagger in her hands creates a problem, but I’m pretty sure that I could take them both out if it came down to it. “For argument’s sake, I’m pretty fucking stupid,” I say, more than happy to waste time, knowing that the boys will come for me soon. “Tell me, oh wise one, what would happen if I were to take another step?”
Paris moves her hand, slowly reaching up to the top of her jacket and I watch in horror as she drags her zipper down, revealing a row of explosives that have been strapped to her chest. “Take another step and I will set it off,” she tells me. “There’s enough C-4 strapped to my chest to bring this whole building down, taking out every single mother, husband, and child in this building. Do you really want to be the cause of a mass murder?”