Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Oscar and I exchange a severe look. They’re not making it to Xander. And the temps aren’t moving a muscle, which means the extra guards are listening to another order.
Tony, I’m guessing.
I’m about to tell Oscar to go and I’ll watch Charlie. But he beats me to speak. “You go, Moretti. You’re taller.” Oscar is over six feet, but I assume he thinks my longer limbs will help me climb up the fucking hill faster.
Probably because Banks was high up, almost to the top. But he changes course to protect Maximoff and Farrow.
Jane looks panicked at the scene. “Go, go .” She taps my shoulder.
“Listen to my sister,” Charlie says, shooting me a harsher look.
I glance at Oscar, and he nods to me, “I have her.” I trust him. Instantly. I move into action. Carefully setting Jane onto her feet, and she hangs on to Charlie’s arm.
Fear strikes her eyes. She pushes me towards the hill. “Thatcher.” Her empathy for her best friend takes over.
A Viking charges Maximoff, about to shove him, and Farrow intervenes fast. He cold-cocks the Viking hard. Lights out instantly, and the rest erupt on both of them.
I run.
Maximoff is brawling his way through these shitbags, and Farrow is swifter, more trained. Nailing one with an uppercut to the jaw. Banks keeps about three from storming in on them, putting a guy in a headlock, and I ascend another part of the hill.
Clear of Viking targets.
I’m not able to check back on Jane. I place all my trust in Oscar. Sounds of cheering escalate the higher I climb, my boots muddying.
I’ve been in harsher terrain. Under harsher conditions. But I wouldn’t call this a cakewalk by any fucking means.
My pulse pounds in my temple. The DJ plays “I Put a Spell On You” on full blast, the bass shaking the ground.
I dig my foot into mud, and with one last shove up, I reach the graveyard. Seeing over every head, I have an eye on Xander.
He almost trips backwards into a fake headstone, dodging a jab to the nose. Blood already gushes down his mouth and chin.
I don’t waste a second. “Break up!” I yell, storming toward the fistfight in the center of the graveyard. No one tries to restrain me here. They see my imposing height and build, domineering stance, and lethal glare—and they part instantly.
Making a clear path for me to go through. But they boo. Pissed that I’m about to end their party.
My boots crunch red Solo cups while I charge ahead. Unblinking, reflexes humming. Not far.
And then the white ranger lands a hard blow into Xander’s face. Blood gushes out of his nose.
And he crumples on a headstone in a heap. I’m here. One second too late, but I wrench the white ranger back by the collar.
Someone yells, “Holy shit! Baywatch-Thor is coming out of nowhere!”
The white ranger flails at me. “Heymangetoffme.”
I throw him to the side with extreme force. His chest thuds on a mound of dirt. Quickly, I crouch to Xander, who groans and cups his nose.
Lanky at six-foot-two, he’s pretty scrawny for fifteen—and without pause, I lift him in my arms.
He tucks his head into my chest with some type of familiarity, seeking safety in my clutch. As though he knows exactly who I am without checking.
I’m almost whiplashed with how many years I’ve spent protecting him, and as I carry Xander down the hill, I feel like he’s nine-years-old again.
He’s safe.
Probably broke his nose, but he’s safe. Hell, he’ll be joining the broken nose club. Many bodyguards are in it, and so is Maximoff.
I swat a plastic cup that someone tries to throw at me. Booing intensified. I don’t give a rat’s ass.
Finding some foot traction, I reach the bottom of the hill without slipping. And right as I lock eyes with Jane—Tony motherfucking Ramella cuts into my path.
I glower. Wanting to choke him with his lifeguard whistle.
He looks just as murderous. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Moretti?”
“I’m holding your bloodied client and you’re asking me that? You shouldn’t have even let Xander swing—”
“He wanted to fight,” Tony sneers, his blue eyes pulsating with rage that I feel. “It was a boxing match.”
“Where’s the fucking ring ?” I growl.
Tony points at me. “See, that’s your goddamn problem. You can’t hover over your client. You gotta let him live his life.”
“He’s fifteen!”
“He’s a fuckin’ teenager! You did worse at his age—”
“Vaffangul’,” I growl. Fuck you.
He spits the same Italian curse at me.
If Xander weren’t in my clutch right now, hiding in the crook of my arm, I wouldn’t be able to control my hot-blooded urge to deck Tony in the fucking face.
It’s the only reason I walk away from him now.
He shouts at my back, “You’re gonna regret this, Moretti!”
We’ll see.
45
JANE COBALT
Everything changes today. The first day of November.