Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“What does that mean?”
“My old man had the right idea getting in with a bigger club, but he was a fucking rat. Our pres, the man I looked up to, who taught me that brotherhood and loyalty were earned, was a rat.” Shaking his head, he kicks a box into the air. A scattering of wrappers rains out of it, fluttering to the carpet.
“He was using this place to wash money, but he wasn’t business savvy,” he says, jabbing a finger to his head. “The feds were onto this place like flies on shit. It didn’t last three months.”
I heard rumors about a small, abandoned casino when I was in college. Students used to hold illegal parties here. I had no idea it belonged to the Devils.
“He should have done the prison time. He turned rat instead.” A manic glow in his eyes makes the blue seem almost white. Dark circles welt beneath them.
“Did my dad kill him?” I close my eyes, absorbing everything he’s saying.
“Your dad brought the information to me. He knew what needed to be done and wanted me on board. Came to me out of respect for our relationship. He was like a second dad to me.”
“So you killed him?” I screech, rocking the chair to try to get loose. I want to rip his eyes out.
“No one else knew about my dad—and it had to stay that way!”
“I hate you,” I spit out. “I fucking hate you!”
Rushing toward me, he wraps his hand around my throat, tilting my head to look into my eyes. There’s nothing left of the man I knew in them. But the man I knew never really existed.
This man is Tyler Stratham.
A ruthless, cruel murderer.
It’s who he’s always been.
“My dad was wrong.” The side of his face hooks into a sinister grin. “Respect isn’t earned. It’s taken.”
“You had a bullet wound,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “When you went back to the brothers and spun your lie.”
“It had to look believable.” Releasing me, he walks over and drags a duffle bag from behind a pillar.
“So, you killed them both—the men who raised you?” Sickness burns in my stomach as newfound grief courses through me.
“They were as shocked as you.” He bends down and unzips the bag, rummaging through it. “I made it quick.” Standing, he turns to me with his brow crushed, eyes shining. “They didn’t suffer.”
Tears scald my cheeks, the truth lashing out and stinging like the crack of a whip. Tyler killed our dads to take over as club president.
“I took care of your mom, you, Harley.” He closes his eyes on Harley’s name, his twitching wrist capturing my attention. Panic douses me.
“Are you going to kill me too?” I choke out, my throat closing around the stone lodged there. Lifting the knife in his hand, he gets on his knees before me, places the blade on the carpet, and rubs his palms up my bare thighs.
“Do you know how much I love you?” he implores. And I think he believes his words. “I would have been a good husband to you, filled this stomach with babies.” He places a kiss to my abdomen. “My old man said I wasn’t capable of love, but what the fuck did he know?”
“You have me tied to a damn chair half-naked, Ty. That’s not love.” The tips of his thumbs skirt the line of my panties, brushing beneath the hem. I flinch, ice washing over me. I attempt to scoot away, but there’s nowhere for me to go.
“What about you?” he muses, licking his bottom lip. “You came with a knife in your shoe. Are you going to kill me, Princess?”
Visions of me stabbing him run a dark reel through my mind. Killing my dad would warrant blood for blood. But I don’t know that I’d be able to follow through with it. Something inside me cares if he lives or dies.
“No.” I sag in relief as he removes his hands from my underwear and swipes at a tear paving its way down my cheek.
Leaning in like he’s sharing a secret, he whispers, “You’ll want to kill me when I tell you what happened to Harley.”
CHAPTER 16
DEATH
No. No. No.
My head shakes frantically, horror streaking through me. “Ty—what does that mean?”
I jolt in my seat, trying to get to him. The ropes shave at my wrists, digging farther into my hands. “Say it wasn’t you,” I demand, my throat constricting, every muscle tensing. “Say it wasn’t you, Ty!” A sob catches in my chest when he remains silent.
“Speak goddammit.”
He doesn’t deny it. Why isn’t he denying it? “Tell me.”
Standing there, he watches my destruction.
Tears bleed from my eyes like arteries opening up. “Say it wasn’t you,” I urge. “Please, Ty.”
Silence.
“Tyler!” I scream.
The worn threads tethering us snap in my brain.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
It’s all too much. Too silent. Too excruciating. Too real.