Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Nate stands next.
I turn to face Valentina. “Make sure the girls stay indoors. We will leave Spyder here to guard the door with your guards. No one leaves or enters this house. Understood?”
Valentina nods. “I haven’t been over to that side.”
I clench my jaw, annoyed because she, once again, proves that she hasn’t got a fucking clue how to run this island. She’s going to need some help, whether Nate likes it or not.
“If we come back a man down, you make sure the girls don’t know until they’re safe.”
“It’s just Veronica, isn’t it?” Spyder asks, and we all fall silent.
I shake my head slowly. “How do you think she has survived this long? Veronica Vitiosis has allies.”
“Who?” Spyder asks, full of disbelief.
Bishop checks the bullets in his pistol. “Every single enemy that Lucan had.”
The ATVs are parked at the front of the house. Enough for all of us to drive into the woods. Sirens blare out in the distance. I need to tell Tillie to change the tune. Listening to The Purge siren is probably going to put more fear into people than keep them home. Especially since it’s dark. I’m sitting shotgun, Bishop’s driving and Nate, Cash, and Hunter are all in the back of ours. In the one beside us is Spyder’s right hand and a couple of Valentina’s strongest guards, along with Cash, Ace, and Jase. Whenever we need backup, that’s who we call. Whoever can make it in from our original crew. Even if they’re busy doing whatever they had been sent off to do to fill in for their fathers now that it was our turn, they’d come if they could. Trees slap past us as Bishop floors it forward. We fly over small hills and branches, with the other ATV following closely behind. I tighten my plain black bandana around my face and flip my hoodie over my head, bringing the AK up to rest on my shoulder. I look through the scope, turning on night vision. More and more movement catches my eye the deeper we venture to the other side of Perdita that no one wants to go into.
“Any idea why she didn’t take Saint to this side?” Bishop asks over his shoulder.
I shake my head. “No. I’m guessing it’s because she didn’t want them to know.”
“Or that she wanted us to find her, and then to enter The Devil’s Pit on our own fucking accord.”
“Knock, knock, motherfuckers.” Nate smirks, raising his shotgun up and pointing it forward. He pumps up and starts firing. Bishop doesn’t let up the gas until we’re crashing through the iron border. I grip onto one of the bars and raise the AK up with my other. As soon as we crash in, I start spraying. Bullets are flying everywhere.
Every. Where.
The Devil’s Pit is laid out identical to the main street of Perdita, only where everything is clean, wholesome and bright in Perdita, it’s all darkness and gore here. Where the shops are in Perdita; there are jail cells here. Flames burn down the pathway of the main road that’s lined with dirt. This side of Perdita is the prison of the island. They stay in, or they get shot. Criminals don’t get to walk free—ever. That is the rule. Some choose to come in, because they don’t want to live amongst the people of Perdita. They’re too sterile. Too perfect. All of these fuckers contained behind this wall are scum. Rapists, murderers of their own people, thieves. And now, they’re all gassed up and ready for us.
Bishop was right. This was a setup and we just rode straight into it.
I squeeze the trigger and aim my gun sideways, unloading a whole clip into who is shooting. Bishop directs the ATV down, running over people on his way. We were lucky there were still a couple of guards who work for Perdita, so they gave us an in. But the people inside are rogue. Ruthless, and they don’t give a flying fuck who is at the other end of their gun. You give these crims something to do and they’ll do it. Especially if it’s chaos.
A single strip of road is doused in dried blood and ridden with dirt, reminding me of the old cowboy era.
I aim. I shoot. I aim. I shoot.
We get to the end of the road and Bishop drives straight through the wired fence that blocks off the prisoners from the home. No one runs this side of Perdita but the guards. No one.
The ATVs kick up dirt as we slide to a stop. Guns no longer popping off. The silence is unnerving.
“Everyone good?” Bishop calls out over his shoulder.
They all nod.
I climb out, heading toward the front door. It’s an abandoned house, but when I look closer— “Someone has been living in here.”