Total pages in book: 175
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164346 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 657(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
“Do you want him to bleed out?” Tyson snaps at me, and I swallow, shaking my head.
“Hey.” Ryat takes my shaking hands in his and pulls me into him, looking up at me. And all I can think about is those pain pills aren’t going to kick in fast enough. He’s going to feel this.
“Do we have any drugs?” I ask, licking my wet lips. We need what Ryat gave me when I ran. It knocked me out almost instantly. Tyson shakes his head without even looking up at me.
“It’ll be okay. I promise,” Ryat assures me when he sees the way my shoulders tense.
“Hand me the scotch,” Tyson demands, pointing at it on the small ledge next to the bed. I do as he says. “Put this in his mouth.” He hands me a washcloth.
Before I can do anything, Ryat snatches it from my hand and shoves it into his mouth, and then wraps his arms around my waist, while I stand between his parted legs. Letting out a shaky sigh, I wrap my arms around him, holding the side of his head to my chest.
Tyson takes a lighter and runs it along the blade of the knife, heating up the metal that he’s going to use to stop it. I blink, allowing the fresh tears to fall so I can see better.
Placing the handle of the knife between his teeth, he picks up the scotch and pours it over my husband’s back. Ryat tenses, and a muffled sound comes from his gagged mouth.
I whimper, and Tyson’s blue eyes glare up at me as if I’m making it worse.
I gently scratch Ryat’s head, holding him to me, and I know he can feel me shaking. Then Tyson heats the knife up once again before pressing it—blade flat—along the cut on my husband’s back, who tightens his hold on me.
The smell of burning flesh is enough to make me want to vomit. Then to know it’s my husband literally has me gagging. But I manage to keep it down.
Once done, Tyson drops the knife beside him before grabbing something from the briefcase and taping it up.
I look up at the ceiling, trying to stop the tears from falling before I have to look at Ryat in the eyes again. I don’t want him to see me upset.
“That’ll be good enough until we can get him to the hospital. I’ll let the pilot know we’re ready. Make sure he lays on his stomach.” And with that, he leaves us alone.
_______________
I EXIT THE bedroom, leaving the door open so I can hear if he needs me. I walk down the aisle and come up to the front where Tyson sits. Typing away on his cell, I sit across from him, thinking it would be awkward if I chose anywhere else since we’re the only two awake. “He’s asleep,” I inform him, and he nods but doesn’t look up at me.
“I didn’t watch you and Ryat in the basement.” He says out of the blue.
Frowning, I argue. “But you told Matt …”
“I gave Ryat the codes to shut off the security cameras. I knew you two spent some time in the basement that night when he turned them off along with the others inside the club.”
I let out a lone breath at his words. Ryat was right—he was a hundred percent on our side.
Another awkward silence falls over us, not really having anything to say to that. I feel stupid now that I believed him. But in my defense, it was very convincing. “I … thank you.” I hold out his pocketknife for him.
He finally looks up but makes no move to take it from me. “It’s bad luck to close a knife that someone else opened.”
Sighing, I close it and hand it out again. He takes it this time.
He finishes typing on his cell and then puts it away, sitting back in his seat, and grabs a glass of scotch that sits on the table between us. I notice there’s another one. “I made you a drink.”
I just stare at it, making him chuckle and add, “I didn’t drug it.”
“I wish. I could use a good nap right now.” Then my eyes slide over the empty plane. “Where is Matt?”
“Where he belongs—with the luggage.”
Looking back down at the drink, I almost take a sip but then remember the possibility of being pregnant. I doubt he knows that, though. I wonder if he knows I know what happened to him. Or the rumors about his chosen?
“Can I give you some advice?” he asks.
I look up at him through my lashes. “Yeah.” Honestly, I’m fucking drowning. Out in the middle of the ocean with my hands tied behind my back. My husband is passed out in a room behind me after his friend took a heated knife to his skin to stop the bleeding from a gunshot wound my ex gave him trying to kill me. Fuck, yeah. Give me all the advice you got.