Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
"It's an obligation to him," I explain. "Like Chapter One is for me where Mom is concerned. I don't want to work there. I've wasted almost my entire adult life trying to.. what? Hell, I don't even know. Make her happy? She's dead. It didn't matter what I did with my life, but I felt obligated to carry that on."
"I can't tell if you're trying to talk me out of killing you or you're trying to get me to kill you faster because you've lived such a miserable life."
A tear rolls down my cheek, and with my hands tied behind my back, I have no way to keep it from dripping down my chin.
"Your life would've been miserable, too," I manage. "My point is that none of us are happy. I don't and I know William wouldn't wish this type of obligation on you."
"I'm just as fucking important as you are, Cora. I'm just as fucking capable as William."
I dip my head in agreement. "I know you are, and no matter what, I'll love you."
He shakes his head, lip pulling up in a sneer.
"I don't want nor do I need your fucking love. I can see what you're trying to do, and that shit won't work on me."
I pull my face back when he rushes toward me, the barrel of his gun against my temple, his face so close I feel the warmth of his breath on my face. "Love isn't something I ever needed from anyone. I've gone my whole life without it."
I keep from shaking my head, afraid I've pushed him past the point of no return and any movement might bring this to an end faster.
"William isn't here yet," I say, trying to remind him of his own plan if it prolongs my life just a little longer.
He'll want Will to witness his failure at being able to save me. He wants to strike at him and cause as much damage, as much pain, as he possibly can before he puts him out of his misery.
"Casey begged for his life as well," Chris says as he takes a step back, leaving the tip of his gun against my temple.
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears still pushing past to roll down my cheeks.
Casey Jensik is Christopher's roommate at his dorm in college. He's a nice kid from what I could tell when we met the day Chris started college less than a handful of months ago.
"You hurt him?"
"Didn't touch him," my brother says, a gleefulness in his tone. "But people will do just about anything when threatened with a gun. Climbed up on that chair and slipped that rope around his neck like it was his idea all along."
"Jesus," I sob. "Chris, please. Why?"
"This," he snaps. "This is what pisses me off the most. No one ever listens. I've got a goddamned gun to your head and you're still not paying enough attention to understand."
Rage boils inside of me. This man is responsible for killing my father, my sister, and a woman I've considered a grandmother my entire life, and now he's patronizing me.
I draw in a deep breath.
"You selfish piece of shit. You're not the only fucking person on the goddamned planet, Christopher!" I rage. "Grow the fuck up! You're acting like a snotty fucking kid that isn't getting his way."
"You stupid bitch," he says, lifting the gun right back toward my face.
I'm terrified. I know I'm going to die. If there's any way for me to ease William's suffering before Chris kills him because he doesn't have to witness my death, then that's the best I'll be able to manage.
A crash outside draws his attention enough that the gun swings wide, but before he can point it and aim at the man coming through the doorway, Christopher seizes, the gun in his hand discharging, sending the bullet meant for my head into the hardwood floor.
Chris falls to the ground, body locked tight with two probes from a taser extending from his body.
"Fucking idiot," a guy in full-on commando gear says as he kicks the gun away from Chris's hand, rolls him on his stomach, and places handcuffs on his wrists.
"Baby. Fuck, baby, look at me."
I'm nearly blinded by tears, but the sight of the silver-headed man squatting in front of me is something I never thought I'd see again.
"Help me," I say, fighting against my restraints.
He doesn't pull his hands from my face, but someone else cuts my arms free.
I scream out in pain, my shoulders all but locked in place from how I've been sitting for hours.
"I need a fucking medic!" Eddie yells, and as if pulled from the air a thin man squats down beside me with a bright red bag.
"Is any of this your blood?" the man asks.
"I don't know,” I answer honestly.
"This bump?" the guy asks, pressing a finger to the tender spot on my forehead. "How did that happen?"