Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154882 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
By no means did I live an easy life, but standing there in that elevator while Bane ripped my heart to confetti, he made me see a fact I never noticed.
I was a victim of my father’s abuse. A victim of Lyla’s scheming and Damien’s lies. I was that psychopath Digger’s victim and then I was another poor soul on the streets. All my life, I was someone to be pitied, saved, or supported. Even if others understood my desire for revenge, they didn’t judge me for not taking it. If anything, refusing to let Lyla get to me and all the rest I let pass was seen as a sign of strength.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if I was Genny and a loan shark beat one of the women under my protection for coming up short? What if I was Sunny and he refused to give me my cut? What if I’m Liam and my valet puts a bomb in my car? What if fear was how I protected myself and my family... and there was no room for victims in the equation?
My mother picked up a gun to save me. Could I? Lyla stole, lied, and cheated to get rid of a rival. Could I? Damien sabotaged and manipulated to protect his future. Could I?
Those were questions I didn’t have to answer then or now, yet I looked in Bane’s eyes and said I understood enough to make a choice. What did a victim know of loving a monster? When it got too real—when I witnessed him commit an act I never could—wasn’t I destined to do what Liam predicted I would?
Run.
A dark, heavy mood gathered around me, hanging rain clouds over my head. What did I know about choice? I don’t think I’ve made a single decision about my path. My life is just something that happened to me.
I swiped a stray tear away as we rounded the corner, pulling up to the curb before Banana Tree. I got a glimpse of the woman Bane must see when he looked at me, and it wasn’t a flattering sight.
“I don’t think we’ll be long,” I said. “Maybe twenty minutes? If it’s longer, I’ll let you know.”
Wexler brushed that away. “Take your time.”
Sienna and I stepped inside Banana Tree. The café stood out on the Rockchapel street. Two stories of yellow tables, painted bananas on the walls, mini potted trees as centerpieces, and twenty out of the twenty-five items on the menu included banana. What on earth was so urgent in a place like this?
I dialed River. “I’m here. Where are you?”
“Upstairs. Table by the window.”
“He’s upstairs,” I told Sienna.
We climbed the steps and found River where he promised—peering out the floor-to-ceiling window to the street down below.
“River, what’s going on? What’s the emergency?”
“You asked me to find Lochlan Grant and I did,” he replied as we sat down, “because you thought he might have something to do with Sunny’s attack.”
“Yeah?” Sienna prompted.
“Then I should up my price.” River drifted back to the window, taking our gaze with him. “Because I just answered that question.”
I followed his line of sight to the street over from the one where we parked. Another café claimed the view—charming with its purple and white awning, and Parisian bistro chairs. Sitting at one was a man with dark, salt-sprinkled hair and a thick build wedged inside a simple sweater and slacks. He sipped tea from a dainty cup, his plate of food ignored while he chatted with the man across from him.
Roaring pressed on my ears, muffling the café noise. Pale, bald, mid-forties to early fifties, frigid blue eyes.
“It’s him,” I whispered. “He’s the man on the bridge. He tried to kill Sunny.”
“I’m calling him,” Sienna said, fishing out her phone.
“I can’t believe it’s him. Just sitting there.” Watching him then, more details filled in the brief memory of that night. Even sitting, he towered Lochlan horizontally and vertically. No wonder he was able to haul Sunny away and toss him off an overpass. The man looked like he could lift a truck.
From across the way, I noted the thin slash of a mouth and wide nose. I had to believe Sunny, Genny, or Liam would’ve remembered crossing paths with him before the attacks. Anyone would remember coming face to face with that dead-eyed, sharklike mask.
“Grant knows him,” I said, stating the obvious. “They’re sipping tea like old chums. He is behind this. Why didn’t you want Sunny here?”
“I wanted you to confirm it was him first, Kenzie. For you to be absolutely sure.” River was more serious than I’d ever seen him. “Before you sentenced those men to death.”
I reeled back. “River, what— Why would you say that?”
His jaw was stiff. “You’re too smart for me to buy the naive act. What did you think Sunny was going to do to the man who pitched him off a bridge? Or Liam to the guy who nearly killed his daughter?”