Total pages in book: 213
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202770 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1014(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 676(@300wpm)
I start the walk, winding left and right for a rather long climb. Finally, I step into a giant room that appears to be a chapel, based on the stained glass cross etched in the left stone wall. But what’s even more incredible is the giant cutout archway directly in front of me, at least ten feet wide, the wind lifting from what I believe to be the ocean beyond.
I approach it, hoping I can spy at least a shadow of the water. The wide landing is a large step up and I take that step but I don’t walk forward, certain there’s a long drop, that I will confirm in the morning light.
“The drop is two hundred feet.”
At the sound of a male voice, I turn to find a good looking man in jeans and a T-shirt, with blonde wavy hair so like Jax’s that I know who this has to be. “You’re Jax’s brother, Brody.”
“Yes. I am.” He stops almost just below me.
“I’m Emma—”
“I know who you are.” He steps up on the landing and literally crowds me to the point that I have to turn. I step and press my back to the stone archway, wanting something solid to support me. Suddenly I want off the landing.
Brody steps in front of me. “Why did you come here?”
There’s an accusation in his voice. “What? I —was I not supposed to?”
“Do you know how my brother died?”
My stomach knots. I really want off this landing, but for reasons I can’t explain I know not to move. “He killed himself.”
“He jumped. He jumped from this very spot. If we believe what they tell us.” Brody grabs my arms. “Or maybe he was pushed.” He turns me, placing my back to the drop and with one shove, I’ll be over the edge, too.
Part Two: One Woman
Chapter forty-two
Emma
My heart is racing; cold wind off the Maine coastline blasting over me, biting at my legs beneath my skirt, the black space and drop behind me suffocating. The man holding me over the edge of the tower, brutally handsome and brutal is quite literal. “Do you think he jumped or was he pushed?”
I grab for him, but he’s out of reach. I can’t breathe. “I don’t know what happened to your brother, Brody,” I whisper, but then self-preservation kicks in and I shout. “Let me go!” But he doesn’t listen. He won’t listen, and I shout out beyond him, hoping someone hears me. “Help! Help! Help!”
“Stop shouting,” Brody bites out. “Stop fucking shouting.”
“If you hurt her, I will kill you.”
At the sound of Jax’s voice, I start crying. “Jax,” I plead, tears streaming down my face. “Jax.”
“Brody, you fuckhead,” he bites out. “She matters to me. She’s not one of them. Give her to me now.”
Brody’s jaw trembles, and I can see the struggle in his eyes. He wants to push me. He wants to push me badly. “I didn’t know who my father really was until he died,” I say. “I swear to you, Brody. I’m not like him. I’ll help you.”
“Why would I believe you?” he demands.
“Because I’m not him. Please listen. I’m not him.”
He draws in a breath and turns me, pressing me against the wall of the alcove where we stand. Jax grabs me and pulls me down to the room below, molding me close, his hand on the back of my head, his lips at my ear. “I’m so fucking sorry. So fucking sorry, baby. Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I breathe out. “Yes, now I am.”
“I’m crazy about you. I am so damn crazy about you. Do not listen to anything he’s saying to you.” I sink into him, clutching at the blue jacket of his suit, holding on for dear life. I don’t want to let him go. I was so certain I would fall to my death. “Go, Emma,” he orders, his hand brushing my hair from my face as he tilts my gaze to meet his. “Go now, okay? Go back to the main room. I’ll find you.”
His emotion is a storm that thunders and roars, washing away everything but my fear for where those feelings might lead him and his brother. My cheeks are cold and hot all over but when my hand settles on his jaw, he’s fire, anger burning through him. Anger that could prove dangerous, and I force myself to calm, to calm him as well, but all I manage at first is, “He’s grieving. I know he’s grieving.” Somehow, I don’t tell him how certain I am that Brody would have pushed me, not now. “Come with me,” I add. “Come down from here with me before you talk to him.”
Brody chooses right then to interject. “That bitch needs to go now before I grab her and throw her out of here,” he snarls.