Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Dalton just stares at him, wiping blood off his top lip as Sawyer strides to the kitchen, helping himself to my fridge. But the truth is, Dalton gets off on the pain. The fucker was probably rocking a semi the whole way through that beating, and we all fucking know it. “She’s not my fucking girlfriend,” he mutters under his breath, leaving both me and Cross to roll our eyes.
Dalton walks through to my living room, dropping down on my couch. “Come on, man,” I grumble. “You’re getting blood all over my couch.”
He scoffs, wiping the back of his arm across his face. Dalton broke his nose a lot as a kid, and now snapping it is as easy as a quick flick of the wrist. That thing never did heal properly. “Chill out. It’s black leather. It’ll wipe right off. Besides, it’s nowhere near as bad as what you’ve done to this thing.”
My lips pull just a fraction, and for a minute I was worried the fucker might have made me smile. “How is she?” I ask, nodding toward the cell he just came out of.
“Funny, I thought you didn’t give a shit,” he says as Sawyer walks back and tosses an ice pack into Dalton’s lap. He takes it gratefully and slaps it across his ribs, trying not to cringe. Though he’s been through worse—a shitload worse. Hell, we all have. Only for Dalton, it was at the hands of his father.
“I don’t,” I tell him firmly, making sure he hears me loud and clear. “But if she gets even a hint that you’re not who you say you are, we’re fucked.”
Dalton lets out a heavy sigh. “It’s fine. She passed out an hour ago and after coming off the hard shit, she’ll probably need to sleep it off for a while.”
I nod. “Either way, you can’t be out here long.”
“I know,” he mutters, a distant look in his eyes. He glances back up at Sawyer across the room. “Did you really have to make her think you were about to rape her? Bit far, don’t you think?”
“What’s your fucking problem?” Sawyer argues, his brows furrowed as he watches his friend. “You know I wasn’t gonna touch her. I was just fucking around with her, having a little fun.”
“She doesn’t know that,” Dalton argues. “She was in there almost breaking her fucking wrist thinking you were going to rape her.”
I watch Dalton closer, my gaze narrowed to slits when it hits me. Anger and frustration tear through my chest, and I notice Cross tensing across the room, seeing exactly what’s coming. “I fucking told you not to get attached.”
“I’m not,” Dalton argues. “I just . . . she’s a cool chick and if you just gave it a fucking chance, you’ll see that.”
“She’ll be dead in a little over a month,” Sawyer says. “What does it matter?”
Dalton glares at Sawyer again, and if the asshole isn’t careful, Dalton won’t hesitate to put him in his place. None of us are known for having patience, and right now, Sawyer is testing Dalton’s like never before.
Not letting this get out of control, I demand Dalton’s attention. “You telling me you didn’t fuck her up on my roof? Or are you trying to tell me you did and you fucking plan on doing it again?”
He looks away, not answering my question, but he doesn’t need to. I see it right there in his eyes. He fucked her, alright. He fucked her until he couldn’t see straight, and what’s more, that little cunt of hers has got a choke hold on his dick.
I stand, my hands pushing through my hair. “Fuck, Dalton. What am I supposed to do now?” I demand.
“Nothing. The plan stays the same.”
“And when I carve her heart out of her fucking chest? What then? Are you gonna try and take a shot at me?” He clenches his jaw and looks away again. “FUCK.”
Dalton stands, getting in my face. “I can handle it,” he tells me, rage burning through his eyes. “The. Plan. Stays. The. Same. I’m not getting attached.”
Cross scoffs from his position near my window, his arm braced over his head as he stares out at the darkening city below. Venom slithers down his arm and weaves through his fingers, the sleek black snake more than just a pet to him. They share some kind of bond, something I’ll never understand. All I know is that snake is a little bitch. If anyone apart from Cross touches her, she’ll sink those fangs into their throat without a second thought. “Keep telling yourself that,” he mutters, not even bothering to look our way.
Dalton balls his hands into fists. “Just tell me what you found.”
I watch him a moment, each of us locked in the other’s stare, and the longer I hold it, the harder it becomes for him to keep control. He breaks, glancing away, knowing damn well who holds the power here. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pull out my phone and bring up the image of Oakley’s bedside table. I flip it around to show him and he curses, seeing the black calling card of Empire and the dagger discarded beside it. “While you were busy fucking your new girlfriend on my roof, we were in her apartment finding this.”