Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Before all my confession leaves my mouth, he silences me like he did when I was a child. He rams the barrel of his gun into my good ear before snarling that he won’t miss this time around.
“You’re alive because of me,” he mouths while glaring at me as if I’m his lowest-ranked foot soldier instead of his son. “Remember that when you’re defending the Petretti name in a maximum-security prison.” Droplets of blood pool into my ear when he digs his gun in even deeper before muttering, “You’re not supposed to enjoy being railed by a lifer, but knowing you, you probably will.”
Once he’s confident he has me as angry as I am scared, he returns his gun to the holster around his waist, ruffles my hair like you’d expect a father to do when they see their child after months of no contact, then he joins two police officers in the corridor.
The instant he hands them a fat-waded envelope, I know my choices are limited. I either stay and get locked away for Ophelia’s ‘murder’ or run.
When my hand finally slips free out of the cuff compliments to the excessive amount of gel on my back, you can guess which direction I take.
I bolt, my flee only ending when I realize the devil isn’t the only one venturing into uncharted waters tonight. An angel is also tiptoeing over the fine line.
Chapter Twenty-Two
JR
It takes me blinking several times in a row to clear the heart-clogging vision in front of me. My head is so woozy, even with my ears not being able to hear a single fucking thing, I can imagine every word ripping from Jae’s mouth as she tussles with a blond man outside the window of the holding cell I’m detained inside.
She’s warning him in no uncertain terms that if I am to die in custody, she will have every single member of his crew permanently ostracized from their positions.
“And don’t think I’m joking, Alex. Regan is on her way here, and if I can’t make you see sense through the madness, I’m sure there’s a way I can convince her to twist your arm for me.” Alex shits bricks when she gets up close to him to keep their conversation between them and other lip-reading individuals. “Especially if I tell her about those vitamins you asked about last year to make sure your swimmers are extra strong to improve your chances of a mini Alex running around within the next year.”
Alex scrubs a hand across his scruffy beard. “You can’t tell her that. That’s doctor-patient confidentiality.”
Jae folds her arms under her chest before arching a brow. It was that spitfire stubbornness that kept her alive the three days following her accident. Even while unconscious, she fought with everything she had. It made my obsession with her even greater.
“That privilege is only when the patient pays for the consultation. You’re too cheap for that.”
Her take-no-shit attitude exposes why it was stupid of me to ever believe she was taken out by one of my father’s goons…
I crash tackle the brute clamping his hand over my savior’s mouth so violently, his bounce across the tiled floor exposes his scrubs are fraudulent. He isn’t a medical professional. He’s one of my father’s goons. The make and model of his gun that skids across the floor with him exposes this, much less the Petretti emblem tattooed on his neck.
If my father can’t brand you with disdain, he takes the old-fashioned route. Every member of his crew has the Petretti family emblem tattooed on their neck.
“G-Get the fuck out of here!” I shout after gathering up his gun and directing it at his head.
I’ve never fired a weapon in my life, but for once, my namesake works in my favor. The goon looks worried. So he should be. I’m seconds from blowing his brains out. That’s how unhinged I feel from taking in my rescuer’s unmoving chest and pale, lifeless face. She looks like she’s dead, and her wish to help me was what pushed her into her grave.
“Your father—”
“Will be the least of y-your worries if you don’t leave r-right fucking now!”
After dusting his hands down the front of his mock uniform as if it is as stained as my gown from landing into a bush under my savior’s window, he tosses a glass vial across the room.
Not thinking, I snatch it up before it shatters on the tiled floor.
The goon grins like he’s walking away victorious. I discover why when he mutters, “Good luck explaining that.”
On his way out, he jabs the emergency call button on the doorframe of the private suite. It sends a ‘code red’ alarm through the paging system of the hospital. It alerts nurses that a patient is crashing in the room I’m standing in with a gun, a vial of vapor-like liquid, and an unresponsive woman.