Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Seeing it, though, he shifted just enough for the blow to land on his nose instead of his soft eye.
Still, he’d already been hit, and the impact had his eyes flooding with tears as he reared back, cursing.
It wasn’t much of an opening but I scrambled away, heading toward the kitchen, to the knives, pans, or, hell, even a meat tenderizer I might find there.
It was then, though, that I saw something.
Someone.
Lil was crawling across the ground, her face so bloodied and swollen that I barely recognized her.
But in my distraction, our attacker caught up, slamming his hands into my back, sending me flying into the refrigerator so quickly that I couldn’t even throw out my hands to brace the impact.
My wind knocked out, leaving me gasping, panic starting to swirl through my head when I couldn’t draw in a proper breath.
He was right on me then, his forearm pressed against the back of my neck, his ragged breath in my ear.
“Max,” Lil called, her voice small. But it was enough to shock me out of my inaction.
Then I was fighting for my life. And Lil’s. Since I knew that if he finished me, he would go back for her. Clean house.
And I already knew he was cold and capable of murder.
So I flailed, scratched, bit.
When I got enough room to turn, I did. Then I could hit, slap, claw, knee, kick.
He stumbled back a foot when my knee came up to his crotch with as much force as I could muster.
“Max!” Lil called, making me look just in time to see her get to the gun, then whip it across the hardwood floor toward me.
I rushed forward, scrambling for it.
There was no hesitation once I had it in my hands.
I turned, slid my finger to the trigger.
And fired.
Once. Twice.
The third one hit.
Sure, it was only his thigh, but I’d never shot a gun before. I was proud to hit him at all. Especially because Lil’s damn gun kicked like a mule.
Our attacker looked stunned for a moment. But as the blood bloomed down his thigh, he seemed to weigh his options.
Then turned and ran.
I didn’t lower my arms, though.
I stood there, my hands trembling a bit with the surging adrenaline as Lil pulled herself over to my side, panting hard.
“Are you okay?” I asked, breathing heavily.
“Been better,” she said, her voice smaller than I’d ever heard it. “Lock the door,” she demanded.
That snapped me out of it, making me run across the room to slide her many locks into place before leaning back against it, panting for breath.
My gaze finally landed on Lil again as she tried to stand.
“Here. Wait,” I said, rushing toward her.
I tucked the gun into my waistband before reaching for her, letting her slowly pull herself upward, hissing and cursing. When she finally got to her feet, she was sweating and pale, making the bruises and blood contrast like a fucking horror movie.
“Oh, fuck.”
“That good, huh?” she asked, sucking in quick, shallow breaths.
“Hold on. Let me get your chair,” I said, rushing to find it and wheel it over to her.
“Music, off,” Lil called, making the room immediately go silent, save for our labored breathing and Lil’s little whimpers of pain as she tried to move.
Blood stained her tee and was sticky in her dark hair.
“What hurts the worst?” I asked, wondering if I needed to call an ambulance or not.
“Face. Ribs. Head. That order. But I think I fucked up my knee when I fell.”
Her hands, bloody knuckles from fighting back and all, went to said knee, cupping the sides of it. I could already see swelling through her tight pants. Something was fucked up there, that was for sure.
“Okay. I think you need to go to the emergency—“
The pounding on the door made us both jump and gasp.
My hand went automatically for the gun.
But then I heard it.
Him.
Calling through the door.
“Max!”
Miko was there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Miko
“I tried to get in touch with your brother first,” Cosimo told me as I walked up to him on the street. “And Venezio.”
“I have them both doing shit for me today,” I admitted, tone apologetic, hoping he wouldn’t ask follow-up questions.
I was okay with… avoiding telling him what was going on. But I was going to struggle lying to his face.
“What do you need?” I asked, wanting to push the conversation forward toward safer topics.
“Remember we gave that crew an extension on their protection money?” he asked.
“The one who had to go out of state for a funeral?”
“Yeah, them.”
“What about them?”
“Just got word that no one died. Instead, they are trying to pay a local street crew for protection.”
“Fucking idiots,” I said with a sigh. Sure, they were probably cheaper. But they would also be less effective, less connected, and more likely to keep raising the price of protection each month, then viciously enforce that raise. “Could this be linked to the frat guy shit?”