Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 573(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
He holds my stare, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, and as I look into his eyes, I see the real Zade DeVil, the little boy screaming for someone to save him, and it breaks me. “It’s okay to be scared,” I whisper. “To question everything you’ve always believed. That’s how we grow as people, how we learn and change.”
Helplessness enters his gaze, quickly consuming him as he steps even closer, his hands gripping my forearms as his forehead drops to mine.
“Just know,” I tell him. “No matter what you decide to do, whether you end my life in two days or we find ourselves running from this place, that you’ll do it with me by your side. You obviously know what outcome I’m hoping for, but if you have to go through with it, if you decide that you can’t turn your back on everything you’ve been working toward, I’m not going to hold it against you. I’m going to be proud of you, and I’m going to look down on you, knowing that you’ll be the greatest leader Empire ever had.”
“You won’t hold it against me?” he murmurs, the words seeming to break him.
I shrug my shoulders, a sad smile pulling at the corners of my lips. “I mean, I might hold a little bit of a grudge for a while, and I’ll definitely be haunting your ass every chance I get, but deep down, I’ll know why you had to do it, and I’ll have no choice but to be okay with it.”
Zade shakes his head, looking at me in wonder. “The idea of ever hurting you . . .” he says, his sentence trailing off as though not able to find the words that could possibly describe the turmoil this has been putting him through. “Don’t you understand that you’re my weakness?”
Pushing up onto my tippy toes, I press my lips to his as I curl my arms around his neck. “I don’t want you agonizing over this,” I tell him, my lips moving over his. “We have two nights together. Let’s make them count.”
Zade deepens our kiss as he walks us back to the balcony until I feel the early evening breeze on my skin. His hands roam down my body until they’re slipping under the fabric of Dalton’s shirt, and as his warm hand brushes along my skin, the butterflies begin to flutter deep in my stomach.
My fingers knot into the back of his hair, holding on tight as I desperately wish for some way to ease the demons that torment his mind, but I suppose all I can really do is be here for him.
As his tongue sweeps into my mouth and his hands tighten on my waist, I hear the familiar roaring sound of Dalton’s Harley flying through the city. I try to tune it out and focus all of my attention on Zade and it’s just about to work when a loud screeching tears through the night, quickly followed by a sickening crash.
My eyes widen, fear blasting through my chest as I whip around, clutching the balcony and glancing down at the street just in time to watch as Dalton is flung across the street, his Harley knocked on its side and skidding across the road after being T-boned at the intersection.
“DALTON,” I scream, watching with wide eyes, sick to my fucking stomach and hoping that he’s alright.
I spin on my heels, ready to get down there, when Zade catches my elbow, yanking me back. “Wait,” he says, his gaze flicking up and down the street, so calculating and suspicious. Then as if on cue, gunshots sound in the street below, and Dalton springs to his feet, clutching his shoulder.
“My father,” I breathe, watching as a black Escalade pulls up and the bastard steps out, striding toward Dalton with purpose.
“The fuck is going on?” Easton roars, barging through the door and all but hanging over the balcony to see the fresh hell below, Sawyer quickly following on his heels.
I shake my head, the horror too great to form words as bullets continue whizzing toward Dalton, the other people in the street screaming and running in fear.
Dalton hides behind a postbox, but it doesn’t offer him much safety, and I watch in horror as he grips his shoulder and violently slams back against it, realizing too late that he’s putting it back in place. “Why aren’t we doing anything?” I demand. “We have to help him.”
“It’s a trap,” Sawyer says, taking in the scene below. “There’s nothing we can do, and by the time we get down there, he’ll already be gone.”
“What? What do you mean gone?” I rush out, struggling against Zade’s hold.
Then like lightning, Dalton whips out from behind the postbox with a gun in his hand, his arm already outstretched as he aims at my father’s chest, but as if expecting Dalton’s very move, my father is there, his fingers already pressing on the trigger.