Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
There had been a knot in my stomach as we drove out of Navesink Bank, as a certain coldness overtook Ferryn.
I genuinely wasn't sure I could see her brutally murder people and still see her the same way.
I didn't have anything to worry about.
See, when you thought of traffickers, if you were a decent human being, your stomach turned, your saliva went bitter. But you imagined woman snatched off streets. Maybe even young women.
But because it was so fucking impossible even to imagine, you didn't immediately think of children lured away from their parents or snatched off of playgrounds. You couldn't fathom someone sexualizing a toddler, let alone some scumbag trading them around to perverts.
It wasn't a reality most of us could wrap our heads around. It was an ugliness we simply didn't let into our minds.
But Ferryn did.
Ferryn had to.
The second those words were out of her mouth, I understood with one-hundred percent fucking clarity that what she did was needed, was necessary, was the only thing tipping the scales more toward good than evil
I thought I knew myself pretty well, had experienced most of the highs and lows of life.
I couldn't have been more wrong. Because I had never felt anger like the kind that burned through my system as we moved into that building.
I wanted blood.
I wanted to paint the fucking world with the blood of those men.
I didn't even pause in making that a reality, either.
Though I did pause for a moment to admire the way Ferryn tore into that room. With confidence. With righteous vengeance. With the ease of true purpose.
See, if it weren't for Ferryn, those men would be alive. Those men would be free to continue to traffic babies.
How could you not embrace her lifestyle when she saved countless families from untold heartbreak, children from torture?
I didn't have to like the idea that she was putting herself in dangerous situations, that she often did it alone.
I did have to accept it as part of her reality, though, if I wanted to have her.
And I did.
It really was that simple.
But also that complicated.
"Does it look any better?" she asked, coming out of the bathroom in her underwear and a nearly see-through tank—something I damn sure wasn't complaining about—waving the concealer tube at her face. We'd picked up one that claimed it covered tattoos the night before and she had been layering it on for a few minutes already, mumbling about how she didn't know why she used to actually enjoy putting on makeup when she was younger.
"I think in the right light, you can see a bit of a shadow still, but they will probably write it off as sleeplessness."
"It will have to do," she said, shrugging, reaching for the nondescript black sweatshirt she'd picked out of the teen girls' section the night before because all the adult shit would hang off her body. "At least I won't have to explain these," she said, waving her hands toward the blue marks on her hips. From where I had apparently slammed her into the sink. I knew I was supposed to feel bad for marking her, but I couldn't find one damn shred of apology in me for those ones. "Pretty proud of yourself, huh?" she asked, responding to the smirk I didn't even try to hide.
"Yeah, pretty much," I agreed, nodding, finally dragging on my clothes too. "How long is the drive back from here?" I asked, knowing she was the one with all the plans. Which was funny considering she was the girl who never had any plans, always kind of just flew by the seat of her pants.
"About four and a half," she grumbled. "As if
I'm not sore enough."
"At least we'll be back for dinner."
Her mom was cooking. Of course, she was. She was looking for any excuse to do motherly things for the girl she'd lost for so long.
"This is true. And she's making her famous banana bread too. I haven't been able to think of anything since else since she texted you that."
"Think you might want to consider getting yourself a phone that everyone else can text too, Ace," I reminded her, stepping into my shoes. "They're all going to want access to you. It's gonna get weird going through me all the time."
"Speaking of you," she said, gathering up the takeaway containers from the night before, stuffing them into the trash.
"I'm telling Reign tonight," I told her, watching as her eyes went wary. "I figure if everyone else knows, your chickenshit ass won't try to back out of this for no good reason."
"Chickenshit," she mused, giving me a strange smile. "That... that is a new one."
"Yet fitting. You ready?"
"I, ah, yeah, I guess so."
About five hours later, we were back at the compound, nursing our sore thighs and asses with a few drinks as Ferryn's aunts and a few of her uncles rushed around getting food ready.