Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
People propped up in chairs, motionless.
No, not people.
Corpses.
My breath seizes, my eyes widening in terror as I take in the faces. I recognize them. Most of them.
Horror mauls my insides, turning everything to ice. Every muscle, every nerve screams for release, for escape, but I can’t move. I can’t fight back.
I can’t escape this nightmare.
My nervous system riots with panic while my body remains silent, paralyzed, and compliant on the table of death.
Sirena’s long black hair tangles around her shoulders, her eyes hollowed out, leaving dark voids where life once sparkled.
Doyle sits beside her, his handless arm on the table, the rest of him unnervingly still.
And Denver.
Holy fuck.
I inwardly recoil, unable to purge the bile in my throat.
Shirtless, he bears a gaping hole in his chest, his face beaten, disfigured, and partially decomposed, mostly as it was when I killed him. His eyes, open and glassy, have the same vacant stare as when he took his last breath.
There are two others on this side of the table that I don’t recognize. An older man and woman. Their faces are unfamiliar but lifeless like the others.
I know another body sits behind me, but I can’t turn my neck.
I don’t want to turn it.
“That’s Alvis Duncan and Thea, his wife.” Rhett circles the table, approaching from above my head.
He leans over me, his face upside down, utterly unruffled, as if this grotesque scene is normal.
Alvis Duncan.
The man in Whittier who kept the flight logs, who watched Denver for decades.
But why? Why are they here? None of this makes sense.
It’s a macabre dinner party with dead bodies arranged like guests around the table.
The trophies of a mass-murdering psychopath.
Numbness seeps into my bloodstream, dulling my senses. There’s only so much a person can accept before the mind breaks.
I’ve reached my breaking point.
Or so I thought.
Rhett cups my face and turns my head to the other side of the table.
Wolf.
My Wolf.
The sight of him shatters what’s left of my sanity.
My heart cracks open, and I try to roar, to howl in agony, but the chemical invasion in my veins imprisons me. All I can do is stare, helpless, my soul sobbing silently in a body that refuses to respond.
He looks exactly as he did when he jumped from the cliff.
Beautiful.
Broken.
His head hangs unnaturally on his shoulders, his hair draped across his face. His eyes are closed, his body unmoving.
Dead.
Just as dead as the others.
61
Leonid
—
Rage.
That’s too small a word to describe the thing inside me.
It’s a war drum pounding in my ears, the blood vessels popping in my eyes, and the hellfire blazing through every nerve and tendon.
My fury is elemental, burning hot and violent, scorching reason and restraint into ash.
Hoss is the last place Frankie ever wanted to see again. The thought of her there, dragged back to her personal hell, locks my jaw tight enough to break my teeth. But I can’t unclench it.
I fight to breathe, to remember the techniques. Inhale, count, exhale. But with each breath, I swallow glass. Each exhalation vomits fire.
My fingers curl around an invisible neck.
Rhett Howell.
I grip the armrest of my seat until my knuckles turn white.
Rhett is dead. He just doesn’t know it yet. He doesn’t know that the moment he touched Frankie, the moment he fucking raped her, he signed his death warrant.
We’re his apex predators, his torturers, and his executioners. Our wrath commands us. Our love for Frankie rules us.
Beside me, Monty pilots the bush plane with cold determination, his eyes focused on the horizon as if nothing else exists.
He thrives on control. He built his empire on it and ruled over others with it. But right now, the only control he’s clinging to is the one keeping this plane in the air.
When we received the photo, I glimpsed what lies beneath his steely exterior, the brutality he’s capable of inflicting. He destroyed the front room of the estate in under five seconds.
He won’t hesitate to kill.
Rhett saw it, too. He watched us through our phones and listened to every word we said until we boarded this plane.
But we haven’t spoken, not once since we received his instructions.
We don’t need words to communicate. In the soundless language of our eye contact, the three of us made a plan, boarded this plane, and destroyed our phones.
The avionics communication system is disabled, but we know Rhett’s tracking us through the plane’s GPS system.
Behind me, Kody remains chillingly motionless. He’s a shadow, dark and ominous, more animal than human. His eyes fix on something only he can see. He’s our hunter, and tonight, he’ll hunt something more than just flesh. He’ll hunt for retribution, for justice, for the blood that was taken from us.
The anticipation of violence twitches through my muscles and prickles my skin.
I see her face behind my eyelids. Those green eyes hold my entire world in them. I hear her laugh, soft and sweet, like the whisper of snow on the wind.