Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Are those drinks more important to you than your mother?”
Jimmy shook his head adamantly and for the first time looked up, not at Czar but at Blythe. “No. Mommy, no.”
Blythe pressed her hand harder over her mouth. Ambrielle turned her face into Master’s chest. As upset with her as he was, he couldn’t help bringing his palm up to cup the back of her head.
“What about Master? He deliberately risked his life to save you. You would have been shot, Jimmy, but Master wrapped his arms around you and put his body between yours and the gunmen. Instead of you getting your head blown off, he took a bullet, didn’t you, Master?”
Ambrielle gave a low cry of alarm and jerked out of his arms, stepping back to look up at his face. “Where?” she demanded. “Tell me now. We have to get you to the doctor.”
“We’re not making a big deal out of it,” Master snapped, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. He glared at Czar. “The last thing I want is for Jonas or Jackson to force me to stick around and see a medic. Steele can drop by the house. In case no one noticed, Ambrielle’s bleeding as well. We’re leaving now, Czar. And, kid, you’re damn lucky I didn’t see you kick my wife the first time you did it. I’m not nice like your father.”
Master caught Ambrielle’s hand and signaled Ink that he needed to leave right that second. He wasn’t feeling nice. Ambrie started to protest, and he tightened his hold on her.
“It would be best if you kept quiet this one time, princess. I’m in a damn foul mood, and you just ran out the cuteness factor to get you out of trouble.”
She could barely keep pace with him as he stalked with long strides to the truck. He didn’t slow down as he normally would, not even when Czar and Blythe called after him. He knew they were going to thank him for saving the kid. Right that moment, he didn’t feel he’d done the world—or them—that big a favor. He might even say so if he stuck around.
Shit. The kid risked his life to run back for the drinks Hannah made for him. Okay. He could accept that. He could accept the fact that he got kissed by a bullet meant for the kid. But Ambrie jumped onto his back and clung like a fucking monkey. She was bleeding on her leg and on her arm. The kid had the gall to kick her. He was going to bite and kick her again. Czar needed to box the brat’s ears. He hadn’t held back down in the dungeon when he thought one of them had gotten out of line, that was for sure.
Master yanked open the door to the truck’s back seat, turned, caught his fairy princess around her waist and all but tossed her inside. “Put your seat belt on.”
He saw that stubborn little chin of hers go up. Before she could say anything, he slammed the door closed and yanked open the door to the front passenger side. He had planned to sit in the back with her, where he could examine her body to see how bad any wounds were, but he knew he was too angry. It would be better to wait until they were home alone together. He didn’t need Ink thinking he was going to strangle his wife.
Ink had the truck moving down the highway before Ambrielle dared to speak. “Master, I know you’re upset with me—”
“You think?” He cut her off. “Let it go until we get home.”
“Will you at least tell me how bad it is?”
He wasn’t going to tell her anything, not with Ink there. Not when he was so angry, and he didn’t know how to express himself. He didn’t do arguments. That wasn’t how it worked in prisons. Arguing got you nowhere. You laid down the law. You did it in a soft voice, so the guards didn’t hear you. So other inmates didn’t overhear. No one else was privy to your business, because if you had to defend your honor or your life, you wanted to make certain no one ever suspected you unless you were proving a point. That point would be: Don’t fuck with me.
Master reached over to flip through some channels until he was satisfied, choosing one, flooding the interior with music. He put his head back and closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the various instruments soothe him. Bog, but he hurt like hell. It had been a long time since he’d felt that every muscle in his body was in pain.
Prison sucked, but he knew the rules. He understood the mindset. He knew the kinds of people on every level. The ones who came and went. The lifers. The guards. The games that were played. He’d been in that world from the time he was a kid. He knew how to barter. He could pick out gang members with one quick assessing look and instantly identify those in positions of power. It was his world, and once he was there, it was nearly impossible for anyone to maneuver him into a position he didn’t want to be in. He was the master, the most skilled at moving around in any of the prison systems.