Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
"He needs rest," Chelsea says, looking at the guys. Casey and Quinn leave together and so do Beau and Jacob. Beau gives Chelsea a big hug and whispers something in her ear. She nods at him as he turns and nods his head my way.
Ethan is the last one to leave the room. "I’ll get him something to drink," Chelsea says and turns to walk out of the room.
We both wait until she is gone before we look at each other. "I’m leaving," I tell him, and he just looks at me. "The minute that I can."
"You think I don’t know that?" he says, putting his hands over his chest.
"I’m going to find him," I tell him as the rage fills my veins now. "I’m going to fucking find him, and when I do, I’m going to kill him." I smile now. "I’m going to catch him when he least expects it. Wound him and then." I smile so big it hurts my face. "I’m going to look him straight in the eyes when I put a bullet between those eyes. The last thing that motherfucker is going to see is me." I swallow. "Piece by fucking piece. I’m going to take from him."
"I’ll be ready when you are," he says, and I just look at him. A lump in my throat stops me from snapping back at him. I shake my head, looking down at the bandages around my wrists.
"No, you won’t," I say, my eyes staying down. "You aren’t getting close to this. Think about your family." I look straight at him.
"I am." He looks me straight in the eye. "You're my brother. You would do the same for me without thinking twice."
"Yeah, because I have nothing to lose," I tell him. "Nothing. You have a wife. You have children. Go home, Ethan," I tell him, and he just looks at me.
"I’ll call you later," he says, not arguing with me, and I know it’s because he can feel that I’m exhausted.
Mentally and physically exhausted, I close my eyes and lie back on the pillow. I hear her feet coming closer and closer to the room. I open my eyes while she walks in. "Do you want to have something to drink?" she asks me, and I look at her. I’ve watched her from afar for the past seven years. Since I first met her, she has never backed down from a challenge. I would watch her laugh with her cousins. Spar with Quinn. Bake with her grandmother and then bask in love from her grandfather. "How are you feeling?” she says, stopping beside my bed and holding out the glass of water for me.
"Like I’ve been shot and stabbed," I tell her, and she looks down at my hands. "But I’ll survive."
"I’m going to clean the dressing of your gunshot wound." She turns, grabbing the stainless steel bowl. She walks to the bathroom and fills it with water. She comes back, placing it on the bed beside me. I watch her hands as she lifts the white gauze and finally sees the bullet wound.
"It looks pretty," I say, looking down as she washes the wound with the warm water.
"It looks horrible," she says. "It’s turning purple all around." She takes her finger and traces the color. "If it starts spreading, it might be an infection."
"I’m sure it’s fine," I say to her as she puts Vaseline on the wound and then places another bandage on it.
"There," she says, going back into the bathroom and turning on the water again. I close my eyes, ignoring the stinging that is going right through me now.
I feel the covers come off me and look down at my legs. Five big white bandages all down my legs. Three on one leg, two on the other. Both on the upper thigh. A mistake for him right there, you always break at least one foot, both if you really want to fuck them up. I’ll teach him that the next time I see him.
"What are you thinking of right there?" Chelsea says, looking at me and the ECG machine. "Your heart rate just spiked there. Is it too much to see your wounds?" I see her hands shake a bit, but she covers it up fast.
"No," I tell her. "To be honest, the stab wounds aren’t the worst I’ve been hurt." Her eyes fly up to see mine. The questions are written all over her face. "Is that why your heartbeat went up? Were you thinking about it?"
"No, actually," I answer her and figure that there is nothing in this world that can happen between us. Nothing on this earth could ever make her look at me like I’m not from a monster. "I was thinking that my father was stupid for just stabbing me in the thighs." Her hand stops moving, she looks up at me again. "He should have broken my foot." She looks down at the wounds. "So I couldn’t walk."