Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
But it wasn’t Dr. Burl who walked into the room.
Gathe’s eyes swung from where Jude had been hanging to where I held him. Anger surged inside me, and I jumped up, spinning around to stand in front of Jude while pulling out my gun and pointing it at Gathe.
“Stay the fuck back, you crazy son of a bitch!” I warned.
He held up both hands, not reaching for his own gun. “Whoa,” he said. “Why are you down here?” He paused, and his eyes shifted to Bane, staring at him, completely unaffected by any of this.
“You brought her down here?” Gathe asked him.
“Yeah, I did. You got a problem.” It wasn’t a question, and Gathe knew it.
His eyes swung back to meet mine. “Put the gun down, Saylor. You’re not gonna shoot me.”
I inched it just enough to miss his arm before pulling the trigger.
“FUCK!” he shouted, jumping back. “Are you serious? I did this for you. That sorry asshole hurt you.”
I let out a flat laugh. “This isn’t how you handle it. You don’t kill people. How many girls’ hearts have you broken? Dozens. No one ever beat you over it.”
He tilted his head to the side. “This isn’t about some random girls. It’s about you.”
“I warned him that Gathe and Than would kill him if he made you cry again,” Bane said behind me.
Jude’s hand grabbed my waist this time, and I turned to look back at him.
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Put the gun down.”
I didn’t want to. But his hand squeezed my hip, and something about that gesture, his silent pleading, got to me. I lowered it.
“Only for you,” I said. Then turned to look back at Gathe. “I won’t forgive you for this.”
He nods. “Fine. But you’ll see in time that I did it because I love you.”
“That’s not the way to handle it. Regardless of how he feels about me, what choice he makes, I love him. So, that means I don’t want him beaten and hanging in a freaking dungeon.”
Jude’s hand squeezed my hip again. I turned my back to Gathe, not wanting to look at him.
“I love you.” He repeated the words.
“Fuck, Saylor, how many times does he have to say it?” Bane grumbled.
I reached out and brushed his swollen jaw. “You’re hurt. You’ve been through a lot.”
The sound of a door and more footsteps. The doc was finally here.
I bent down and kissed his head. “You’re gonna be okay. He’s here now.”
Forty
Saylor
Jude had been taken to Linc’s house. He had to be somewhere that he could be observed, and Linc had the only real hospital room. Dr. Burl had said it was for the best, that it had all the equipment, and with Jude’s broken rib, he needed a bed that would help him get up and down.
I had called several times a day for the past week, but I hadn’t gone over there. My anxiety attacks had come back in such full force that Mom begged me to start going to the therapist again.
As if I could tell the therapist, Well, you see, the man I love doesn’t love me, so my friends tried to kill him by hanging him up in a dungeon and beating him.
That would go over swell.
When I had called this morning, Linc had said, like he did every time I called, “He is asking for you.” Except today, he added, “Doc thinks he’s ready to go home.”
I knew this might be it. The last time I had a chance to see him. Because there would be no going back to the church or helping with the clothes or food ministry. I had already sent Sister Mena all the information and contacts she needed to finish the job.
I glanced down at the pink sundress I had put on. It was my favorite. Reminded me of Barbie. And if this was gonna be it for us, I wanted to go out with me looking nice. Okay, hot. I wanted to look hot.
Staring at the closed bedroom door, I mentally prepped myself before knocking.
“Come in,” Jude’s deep Texas drawl was back. He didn’t sound weak, and the relief sent a fresh surge of emotions through me. He could have died. But he didn’t. I had to remember he did not die.
Turning the knob slowly. I pushed open the door and walked inside.
Jude was dressed in jeans and a green henley shirt that made his eyes pop, as if they needed any help. He stood, facing me, leaning against the edge of the dresser, his feet crossed at the ankles and arms over his chest. His face held that new stubble from several days without shaving. His eyes, although the left one was a little puffy still, were almost back to normal. His lips still had a crack that had some cream on it, but they, too, had lost the swelling. A faint bruise on his left cheek was holding on. I studied every detail, reassuring myself he’d be fine.