Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 867(@200wpm)___ 694(@250wpm)___ 578(@300wpm)
“Trace? Go get drunk somewhere.” Macon takes a step toward me.
Trace holds out his hand. “Give me Krisjen,” he tells me.
I shake my head.
Macon turns his head to the youngest. “Take her,” he commands Trace.
Trace looks at me, and again, I shake my head.
I hear Krisjen’s small voice. “Don’t leave,” she begs Trace.
But they do. Dallas first, and then Trace, albeit hesitantly.
Maybe he figures she’ll stop us from killing each other.
The door slams shut, Krisjen’s body shakes against mine, and I hold Macon’s gaze as I press my nose into her hair.
Everything about her is sweet.
And I know exactly what he needs.
I whisper, “We could share her.”
His eyes narrow. Her breaths grow smaller against my body. “We could go to the boat …” I tell him. “Go out to sea tonight where the world doesn’t exist, and we could make love to her. On the dark water. Where she can come as loudly as she wants to.”
The pinch between his dark brows gets deeper, and I know I’m right.
I slip my hand under her shirt—his shirt that she wears—caressing her stomach.
“It’s been a long time since you felt something warm, hasn’t it?” I ask.
But I don’t need him to answer. I know everything that happens with him. It’s been ages since he’s been to bed with anyone.
“She wants you,” I tell him, feeling Krisjen’s breathing hitch. “She looks at you. Did you know that?”
His gaze falls to her, and I honestly don’t think he knew. Has he been on another planet?
She doesn’t make my food for me.
“She’s so warm,” I tell him. “Do this with me.”
He meets my eyes, steeling his spine. “She’s eighteen, you piece of shit.”
“Then take her to the boat yourself.” I release her. “Take her away tonight. Just you and her. She won’t say no.”
His jaw hardens.
“Touch her,” I beg him.
Please just fucking touch her. Be a fucking man instead of a machine or a piece of furniture.
“Let’s go out,” I go on. “Me, you, her. No more fucking pain. At least tonight.”
Something has to change. I want my brother back. I don’t care if he doesn’t want me to have her. I hope he doesn’t let me touch her. I hope he fucks her, because he can’t get enough. I hope he wants to keep her.
But instead, she turns, faces me, and before I know what’s happening, her hand is whipping across my face.
I blink, turning back, but she does it again, and then I hear her finally speak. “No.”
Sickness rises up my throat.
She starts to walk away, but I pull her back, opening my mouth to apologize, but Macon shoves me away from her. I crash into the window, hearing it splinter and crack but not break.
“I’m getting out of here,” I tell him, “and I’m not leaving her alone with you.”
I take her hand, but he grabs me by the neck and slams me into the wall this time. The breath is knocked out of me, and my spine feels like it was knocked into my sternum.
A picture comes down, and I hear Krisjen cry out.
“Krisjen, go!” I yell. “Just get out of here.”
I don’t wait for her to leave, though. Hooking an arm around Macon’s neck, I drag him to the floor, both of us tumbling and rolling into furniture. I accidentally kick the TV, and feel hot blood dripping from my nose.
Macon flips me over, but I slam my fist into his jaw, jarring him long enough to throw him off. He lands next to me, and I scramble, getting on all fours, ready for him to come at me again.
But then I see that we’re not alone.
I trail my eyes up four black-clad legs, and recognize the two men in full uniform, silver badges shining, and sidearms locked at their hips.
“Macon, what the hell?” the younger cop asks.
The other one steps up. “Man, we just came over to—”
But Macon blurts out, “Take him!”
What?
I stop breathing as Krisjen turns her worried eyes on me.
“What?” one of them asks, looking stunned.
Macon gets up to his knees, wiping the blood from under his nose. “Take Army. Let him cool off in a cell tonight.”
My mouth drops open.
“No!” Krisjen cries.
“Jesus Christ,” I grit out.
The older cop, Tom Chavez, asks, “Are you sure?”
“Take him now!” Macon bellows.
Every muscle knots, and I struggle to climb to my feet. They move in, but I grab the TV and throw it onto the floor, growling.
Chavez and Marquis, the younger one, grab me, each of them holding an arm and forcing me toward the door.
Krisjen moves. “Macon, don’t,” she begs him. “I’ll leave. I’ll go.”
“Good idea.” He takes her arm, pushing her toward the cops. “Take her home, too.”
They grab her as she yells, “I have to get my brother and sister!”
But Macon has lost his goddamn mind. “Get them out of the Bay!”