Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
My phone lights up again, and I think it’s her, but it’s from the Heathens’ group chat.
Nikolai: I say, Killer’s obsession with Glyn is tugging on my nonexistent heartstrings. Think he’ll let me fuck her once he’s done?
Killian: Go fuck a corpse, and while you’re at it, turn into one before I find you.
Nikolai: Yo, motherfucker, didn’t you block me?
Jeremy: He unblocked you to see you going rogue and getting yourself into trouble. RIP, asshole.
Nikolai: What’s with the fucking RIP? Killer has the attention span of a mosquito and he’ll let her go before exams start. What’s wrong with me getting leftovers? I’m doing it for a very important reason. Cross my heart and hope to die, cousin.
Killian: The only leftover you’ll get is your balls after I shove them down your throat. I’m serious, fucking drop it.
Nikolai: Whoa. Hold on. Did you just threaten my balls with murder for pussy? Who are you and what have you done with our Satan’s heir?
Gareth: Stop it, Niko. It’s different this time.
I want to go at my brother’s throat, too, but that would just fuck up my mood, so I slip my phone into my pocket and drive out of REU.
A few seconds after I’m out of the main gate, something feels off.
A car is following me.
No, two.
Five.
Fuck.
I swerve to the right and drive down the dirt road, but I’m only a few seconds in when blinding light hits me in the face.
A car—or something bigger, a truck—is speeding straight in my direction with their blinding headlights on. I don’t attempt to avoid it because I’d crash into the other cars.
I don’t try to lessen the blow, I even step on the gas.
You want crazy? I’ll give you fucking crazy.
The last thing I hear is a loud crash and the sound of the airbag when it smashes my head back.
Hot liquid slips down my forehead as my neck remains lolled in a backward position.
I’m not sure if I’m conscious, unconscious, or in between, but I can feel a sharp sting as I’m wrenched out of the car.
A very familiar, very annoying voice rings in the air. “Your seven days are up, motherfucker.”
Underground-like noise rings in my ears and shadowy figures fly behind my orange-lined lids.
I slowly open them and a sudden throb slashes through my skull.
Motherfucker.
I haven’t experienced this type of pain since a group of losers ganged up on me back in high school.
Only, this time, my head feels heavier and I’m having trouble focusing. Is it a concussion?
I’m almost sure there was no blunt force trauma during the accident since the crash wasn’t that strong and the airbag protected my head.
Though it could’ve happened after.
Red dots line my vision as I shake my head to chase away the blurriness. I lift my hand to clutch my temples, but they won’t move.
I stare down, and sure enough, both my wrists are bound behind my back and my legs are strapped to the legs of the metal chair I’m in.
Fucking perfect.
Judging by the charcoal-colored walls and the bright neon lights, this is the underground.
My first bet would logically be the Serpents. They have a bone to pick with us, and Jeremy has been hitting them where it hurts for years. As a result, their retaliation was a matter of when, not if.
Assaulting and kidnapping me seems legit and predictable.
But that would only apply if I’d been kidnapped within TKU or if the chase had happened close to our compounds.
REU might be full of posh folks who worship the queen’s pristine shoes, but they have their own club. And Serpent or not, they’d be vulnerable here.
It’s not their territory.
It’s Elites’ grounds.
And I happen to have pissed off one of them, unintentionally—or maybe intentionally, considering all the couple shots I’ve become a fan of posting on social media lately.
The last picture I posted is of Glyndon sleeping on my lap, her face hidden by my naked chest and only half of mine visible. She’s wearing shorts and a red tank top and her arms are wrapped around my middle.
She wears red for me.
That could and would anger him. Which is one of the reasons I posted it, not the main one, though. That would be my constant need to stake a claim on the little rabbit.
Sure enough, when the door opens, the one who strides inside, dressed all in black with a golf club resting on his shoulder, is none other than Landon.
Usually, the Elites put on white and gold masquerade masks during rivals’ week, but he obviously thinks that detail isn’t needed in this situation.
He wants me to know he’s the one behind this.
It’s personal.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says casually. “I hope you had a good one, because you might not be able to sleep for a while.”
“Oh my, I’m shaking.” I mirror his tone. “Is this the part where I start to cry?”