Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Asher embraced my touch for several seconds, before he backed away, my hand dropping back to my side. The door closed, a barrier between us. He was lost to me once more. I did not move. I stayed, shifting my gaze between Asher’s room and that which held my husband. They were both broken. I loved them both. And, somehow, I would see them both healed.
Feeling a wave of tiredness, I made my way back to my bed. Flame was still sleeping, but his brow was strained. As I slipped into bed beside him and took his hand, his forehead lost its tension and he rolled toward me. The warmth that sprouted in my heart was that of hope. We would get through this. We would always wrestle our demons and win, no matter how hard the fight.
Lifting my nightgown, I laid his hand on my bare stomach, placing my hand on top. “We can do this,” I whispered and rested my head upon his broad chest. “We can be parents, and we can be happy. I know we can. We just have to believe it, Flame. We just have trust ourselves and believe…”
Chapter Three
Lil Ash
Darkness. That’s all my fucking life was. Fucking pitch black darkness. And an anger so strong that I shook with rage. Every time I closed my eyes I was back in that moment, when the cartel and the Klan had taken us prospects hostage. When they said they would let us go, unharmed… but instead the Diego pulled out his gun and aimed it at my head. As he lined the barrel up with my skull, I knew that was the end for me. I knew it was my time to go. It was fucking freaky. A sense of numbness washed over my body as I looked at my fellow Hangmen and found my brother. He was watching me, pacing, losing his shit at seeing me in Diego’s hold. I waited for death to come. But something knocked me to the ground from the side. I looked up just as Diego re-aimed the gun away from me. His gun’s chamber released a bullet—a bullet meant for me.
Slash. Fucking Slash, my best friend, on the ground, blood pouring from his head. He’d sacrificed himself for me. Slash had fucking died for me. I tried to get the image of his eyes wide open, staring at nothing, out of my head. But the image stayed put. It haunted me, constantly reminding me that it should have been me lying dead on the ground, not fucking Slash. I wanted to rip the image from my brain. But the sight of my best friend, dead, never went away. It was fucking tattooed on my brain forever. My guilt was like a fucking festering sore, poisoning my body with anger, violence, and so much fucking darkness I felt I was a motherfucking VIP in Tartarus.
“Mr. Cade?” A voice was trying to cut into my thoughts, of the memory of me reaching for a gun and opening firing on the cunts that had just killed my friend. I’d used the newfound darkness that occupied my soul to exact revenge. I’d had to do something for my friend who had just fucking bled out on the ground at my feet. My blood sang as the bullets sliced through flesh, the feeling of delivering death was like a hit of heroin. But no matter how many people I took down, the anger stayed put. Every day the anger grew stronger and the blackness grew darker, until it was all that defined me. It had a pulse, a heartbeat throbbing every fucking day until I exhaled nothing but rage. Nothing helped. It felt like there was no fucking way back to the old me.
“Mr. Cade!” Mr. Benson’s louder tone ripped me from the sinkhole that was my ever fucked up mind. I blinked, the starkly decorated classroom coming back into focus. The other students in the classroom were watching me, some blankly through boredom, others with disgust. I was a Hangmen kid. To these rich, entitled fuckers, I was shit on the soles of their designer shoes. Zane and me were nothing. I was glad. I didn’t ever be one of these privileged fuckers. I was brought up being locked up in a cellar. What the fuck did they know about struggling?
“Mr. Cade!”
“What?” I snapped. Mr. Benson’s eyes narrowed at my outspoken attitude.
“Have you even been listening?”
I couldn’t be fucked with this shit. Why the fuck was I in a classroom supposedly learning about shit I didn’t care about, when there were cartel members still in Texas that needed taking out? I wouldn’t stop until anyone who had even bought, or distributed Quintana’s shit was dead. Styx didn’t understand. He had just banned me from the club, also Smiler, who had disappeared of the face of the fucking earth. The only other person who understood how I felt had fucked off. I was consumed by anger. But Smiler…? The devil had him now. I’d retained enough of myself to understand that the difference between him and me was profound. He’d lost his cousin. Slash was practically his son. I saw in Smiler’s eyes that the old Smiler was never ever coming back. Didn’t fucking want to come back. Hades well and truly owned him now. Me? I was busy trying to cling the fuck on to some distant flicker of fucking light. But I was losing. I could feel I was losing the fucking battle with every minute that passed.