Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Talon…please,” she whispers. My heart skips a few beats at the mention of my name. She definitely knows us. Tristan never said my actual name, only my nickname. For her to know my name and nickname, it’s apparent that she knows who we are.
My eyes widen as I stare at her. She looks familiar in a way, but not enough to put a name to her face. Maybe it’s the hair or the messed up makeup, but my brain continuously draws a blank. What the actual fuck?
After a few frustrating moments, I firmly push Tristan backward. He stumbles off the bed and glares at me. “What the fuck was that for?” His voice is angry as his hands curl into fists at his side. His eyes move up to the clock.
“She’s not going to give it to us,” I say. “Unless you plan on killing her, this shit is useless. Fucking look at her.”
I gesture to her bruised body as she lies whimpering on the bed. Tristan’s sweaty chest heaves with each enraged breath he takes. If looks could kill, I’d probably be dead a million times over. While I understand why he’s done it all, it’s overkill at this point. The girl hasn’t caved a bit regardless of what we’ve done to her, so it’s almost pointless torture at this point. It’s impossible for me to let this continue without having her death on my conscience. I’m done hurting an innocent person.
For tonight.
“Just like I fucking told you before, this could be over for her if she just gives us her name. If she weren’t a stubborn bitch, she wouldn’t be bleeding right now.”
“And it’s obvious that she’s not going to.” He pushes me aside and moves toward her again, only for me to pull him back once again. “We’re out of time anyway.”
Tristan’s eyes darts to the clock and a growl rumbles in his chest. “Then we’ll pay for more time.”
“No. It’s not going to make a difference. If she didn’t crack in two hours, more time isn’t going to change that,” I state firmly.
“Do you not care about what fucking happens to us if this bitch runs her mouth? If she tries to blackmail us? Do you realize what we’ll lose?!” he screams in my face.
“And we’ll deal with that as it comes. This is becoming unproductive.”
I keep my voice even. When it comes to dealing with my brother’s anger, matching his energy only escalates the situation. One of us has to be calm, and that’s usually me in our arguments.
The muscle in his jaw tenses as well as his hands tightening into fists at his sides. I’m sure it’s taking everything in him not to punch me, but he thinks better of it. He doesn’t say another word as he storms away. The room fills with tension as he cleans himself up, pulls his clothes back on, and exits the room.
My shoulders sag a bit when the door slams behind me, and I turn my attention back to the woman on the bed.
She’s a bloody, bruised mess, her fragile form trembling in fear. I’m not even sure what to say to her. There’s nothing I can say or much I can do that’ll take back everything that has been done to her over the last two hours. Considering how we still didn’t get any information, none of it seems worth it.
I move toward her, guilt swirling in my chest when she flinches away from me as I reach for her. Her soft cries fill my head as I remove the leather straps from her wrists. My fingertips brush over the red, angry skin from where the cuffs cut into her flesh, and she whimpers in response. I don’t bother saying much to her, as there isn’t anything I can say that’ll be helpful. She allows me to clean her up at least.
“I can walk you to your car,” I offer her as she gingerly pulls her dress back on. She doesn’t say anything to me as she gets dressed. Her movements are stiff, her face twisting in pain with each step she takes. I try to offer her my arm to give her a little support, but she pulls away from me. Not that I blame her. I wouldn’t want help from the guy who contributed to my pain, either.
When we reach the outside of the club, she moves in the opposite direction of the parking lot. I watch her with a frown.
“I can walk you to your car or help you—”
“I don’t have a car,” she mumbles. “I took the bus here.”
I glance at the visible bruises that’ll be on display. If she steps on a bus looking like that, it’s only a matter of time before the cops get involved. I shove my hands in my pockets.