Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
He stood in my way. That’s what happens to people who stand in my way.
This is war, after all. In war, there are casualties. River’s reminder echoes in my mind. He’s right and always has been, except when it comes to her.
My angel.
The nearly broken down, nondescript Jeep I’ve used for months sits in the deep shadows provided by gnarled oak trees lining the north side of the outer compound wall. It helps me blend in better than any flashy, expensive vehicle I was accustomed to in the past.
Thanks to the thick growth from the branches and leaves overhead, the gusty rain turns to a light drizzle once I reach the rear door and swing it open. I can see more clearly now that there’s no curtain of rain in my eyes.
I laid a blanket out over the back seat before I made the trek up to the house, just in case I had to use the sedative. Even unconsciously, I wanted her to be comfortable. For now, I lay her across the back seat, my priority being to get the hell away from here before anyone sounds the alarm.
I doubt I would hear any alarm that’s raised, and not only because of the near-constant thunder. The storm has reached its peak, directly overhead, lightning zig-zagging across the sky. I will barely need my headlights since the flashes are coming in one on top of the other.
None of that can touch the rush of blood in my ears, the victorious roar in my head. I did it. I took her from them. I claimed her for myself.
She’s back where she belongs.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Climbing into the Jeep, I close the door, which provides a measure of relief. I can hear myself think. I can hear her soft breathing, too, smooth and even. She’ll be fine. It’ll be nothing more than a long nap.
And when she wakes up, we’ll settle a few things. I can’t stand the thought of her being afraid, not of me. Not when the only thing that’s ever mattered is her well-being.
It occurs to me, as it has many times before, that her father and brother and the rest of her family might have done everything in their power to turn her against me. The idea leaves me grinding my teeth as I pull away, grateful for the Jeep’s handling over wet roads. I don’t have to slow down or be cautious. There isn’t time for that.
I glance away from the road to take a look in the rearview mirror, my gaze landing on her limp, sodden form. She wouldn’t believe any poison against me, would she? The mere idea makes my heart clench and my throat tighten.
Has she betrayed me?
I shake my head, a growl stirring in my chest and loosening the tension. That’s River talking. He’s never missed a chance to remind me of how she’s forgotten I exist and written me off as nothing more than a villain. I refuse to believe it. She would never turn away from me. Hell, I tried hard enough to make her do that, didn’t I? She refused. And she’ll refuse now, I know it.
I’m so concerned with arguing with myself that I almost forget what needs to be done before another mile rolls over on the odometer. I should’ve done it back there, but I wanted to get away before anyone noticed.
We’re a few miles from the compound now, the road empty, thanks to the late hour and the storm. I’m confident enough to pull off to the shoulder, the tires crunching over gravel before coming to a stop.
I’m about to undo a grievous wrong.
She’s so thoroughly under the effect of the sedative that she doesn’t react when I kneel over her in the back seat. I hate what I’m about to do, but it’s a necessity. I begin probing the area under her left shoulder.
It’s here, I know it is, implanted long ago. During what she believed was nothing more than an ordinary dental procedure, unaware because of the drugs used to knock her out.
The parallel between that event and this one isn’t lost on me as my fingers find the hard lump no more than an inch in length.
The difference is I’m doing this for her own good. She’ll thank me for this.
I withdraw the other instrument I brought along this evening from my pocket: a scalpel. The metal flashes when another burst of lightning fills the sky. The strikes aren’t coming as furiously as they were minutes ago. The storm is beginning to pass.
With my left thumb and forefinger, I isolate the device, holding it still while taking the scalpel in my right hand. I release a breath, ensuring I have a steady hand before I run a quick, careful line over the top of the tiny lump. A shallow cut, but one that pains me just the same. I suck in a wince through gritted teeth. I hate to think of causing her pain.