Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Fuck with me and suffer the consequences.
But my revenge plans are ruined and so is my deal with Griff if the bitch is dead.
I lean against the wall with one leg raised, my boot flat against it as if she’s about to sing me a song instead of threatening to blow her fucking brains out. No matter what I can’t let her pull the trigger. It will destroy all my plans and I won’t fail. Not at this. As much as it pains me to rely on something or someone else, I need this crazy bitch.
I try to appear as calm as I can, but my blood is boiling. I’m angry, and I’m irritated. She could ruin everything on one pull of the trigger. “You’re gonna let this shit-bag be the reason for the end?”
She closes her eyes, and I can see by the way the hand holding the gun is shaking that she’s trying to grow the balls to pull the trigger.
“I’ll give it to you. You’re creative, but in this situation, suicide is the coward’s way out. I didn’t take you for a coward,” I tell her.
That part’s true. She’s not the shy meek girl I thought she was while watching her. She’s stronger than I thought. Defiant.
Wild.
Not to mention, out of her god damned mind.
Frankie’s breathing heavy. Her t-shirt is ripped down the middle exposing her taut stomach.
Her waist is small and trim and the way she’s breathing so erratically I can make out the shadows of her abs beneath her bruised skin. Her thighs and calves are shapely. I’ve never seen her workout in all the time I’ve watched her, but there’s no doubt the girl does more physical work than just walking to and from school every day.
Her banging body isn’t the only thing that throws me. Well, besides her complete lack of self-preservation. It’s her eyes. Originally, I thought her eye color was just another distortion in that grainy picture on my phone, but it turns out it was the only accurate thing about that picture. Bright yellow-gold with spots of orange. I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s got fucking flames in her eyes.
Fitting.
“If you wanna take the coward’s way out, go right on ahead. Pull the fucking trigger. I’m not gonna fucking stop ya,” I make a large sweeping motion with my arm.
She opens her eyes and slowly removes the gun from her mouth only to place it against her temple. My gun is still in my hand, but only in case she decides to swing hers my way.
“How is this the coward’s way out?” she asks. Her pupils dilate. Her bottom lip is bruised and swollen, a dried patch of blood in the corner.
I want to bite off the scab and catch the fresh blood on my tongue before it spills down her chin.
“I might as well die when and how I say so. There’s no other way out as I see it. If there was I’d take it. But at least this will be my choice. Not yours! Not my father’s. Not his!” Her eyes dart to the corpse on the floor. She lowers her voice and straightens her shoulders. There’s a determination in her words that makes me think I’m losing this battle.
And I don’t lose.
“That’s where you’re mistaken. Is this how you want to go? Is this WHEN you want to go? Pulling that trigger is going to make you meet the dirt, that’s for sure, but you’re lying to yourself if you think doing it this way is dying on your own terms. It’s a coward’s way out,” I remind her.
“Then I’m a coward,” she says, closing her eyes again and taking a deep breath.
Shit.
Something inside me clicks. I don’t want to see this girl blow her fucking head off. I don’t want to see the fire in her eyes die.
What a fucking waste. I think to myself.
I can’t take any joy in getting my revenge on Frank if his daughter is the one who pulls the trigger.
Frankie’s lips are moving silently. She’s counting to herself.
Fuck.
One.
Two.
I’m on her just as she squeezes the trigger. The gun goes off, the bullet missing her and grazing my shoulder. I’ve got the gun, and I’ve got her back to the floor, her wrists pinned above her head.
Her gaze is its own kind of bullet, shooting hatred straight through me.
“Face your fucking end like a man,” I say, tearing the gun from her hands and tucking it in the waistband of my jeans. I’m fucking fuming because some chick I don’t know and should want dead wanted to kill herself. My confusion is just as fucking infuriating as the girl fighting against me.
“I should have just killed you!” she grinds out, trying to free her hands from my grip.
In a really fucked up way I’m beginning to admire this girl. She’s got balls bigger than a lot of men I’ve dealt with in this business. Her unwavering rebellion stirs something deep inside of me. Something unfamiliar. I write it off as irritation because god-fucking-damn-it does she irritate me.