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)
I’m faster.
My finger curls around the trigger automatically.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The weapon’s power takes him clean off his feet. Small holes seep crimson rivets down his chest. I recognize the man’s face. I’ve known him for years. Now, he’s another name on my blood-soaked ledger.
A hand slams down on my shoulder, and I startle. “You saved my life.” Jericho’s wild eyes roam my face, his breathing ragged.
“You’re a King,” I say, nodding my head.
He mimics my movement. “So are you.”
A high-pitched scream shatters the air, and we push forward into the bar. Three Devil bodies lay strewn on the floor, one with a knife protruding from his eye and the two others beaten to a pulp. Cutter sits slumped in a chair, unconscious, with Kitty by his side, shaking from head to toe.
“Is he dead?” Callan asks, madness in his eyes.
“No. He hit his head. He saved my life. How the hell did this happen?” Sounds chase from beyond the entry to the bar, and Jericho grabs Kitty, dragging her to her feet.
“No Daddy, he needs me.”
“Shut up and get behind the bar. Stay low.”
“You go with my sister” Callan jerks his chin toward the bar. “You’ll be safer hidden.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I say incredulously.
“Rogue.”
“No,” I snap. “I won’t. We don’t know how many are still in here. I’m not leaving you to fight alone.”
“I’m starting to see why everyone’s so smitten with her,” Jericho grunts.
We creep down the hallway hosting more bedrooms, stilling when Callan holds up a fist. The shuffling of booted feet scratches at my ears. My heart hammers in my chest when we come across a Devil stalking the corridor. Tiptoeing up behind him, Callan grabs a fistful of his hair and rips his head back, dragging a blade across his throat. Cherry red splatters the wall.
Lowering him to the floor, Callan steps over his body and signals for us to continue with a crook of his finger. Chills zap through my veins when the light catches the dead man’s wide eyes. Kenny. He was a prospect, barely twenty years old.
Shouts and screams bounce off the walls. The blonde triplets come bounding down the hallway naked with terror written on their panicked faces. “Get behind the bar. Kitty’s there,” I rush out.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
One flies forward like she was punched in the back, plunging into me and knocking me against the wall. Her body jerks as more bullets fire into her. Air whooshes out of my lungs, the world tilting on its axis. It’s all so loud. So vivid. So real. My mind struggles to find focus.
I push her off me, and her body flops to my feet, bullet holes peppered across her back.
Callan’s nowhere. Jericho is lying on the floor, holding his shoulder.
“No. Where did Callan go?” I hunch down, tearing his hand away to check the wound. He’ll live.
“Followed the fucker who shot me.” He points to a room.
I stand, rounding the lip of the door. The world falls into slow motion, and my stomach vaults. I take a couple steps into Daddy’s room. Callan’s menacing form lurches over a Devil whose hands are raised in surrender. Daddy’s naked body is half hanging out of his bed, slathered in red liquid and staring back at me. Stumbling over to him, I push him onto his back, fire scalding my eyes as I trace over the bullet holes. There are too many to count.
“Cowards,” I grit out, my breath catching. Rage throbs through me. Daddy’s blood seeps through my fingers, filling the space between them, clogging beneath my nails. “You are fucking cowards.” My voice builds with momentum. Steady, determined strides carry me to the man shrinking under Callan. Without mercy or regret, I fire a bullet into his forehead and his raised arms fall like stones beside him. “They attacked at night while most of us were sleeping. And she let them in,” I seethe.
“She’ll pay for that with her life.” Callan clenches his jaw.
“They all will,” I add, marching to the door, the wind knocking out of me when I collide with Tyler.
“Hello, Princess.” His voice scrapes against my mind like rusty nails. Grabbing my wrist before I can raise my gun, he squeezes against the raw wounds beneath the dressings. My fingers flex without permission, and my gun clanks against the floor.
Two Devils pile into Daddy’s room, gunfire ringing out, grunts and crashing sounds clashing as Tyler drags me away.
Callan.
Cool air washes over my skin as Tyler kicks the latch on a fire exit door spilling out at the back of the compound. He throws me to the asphalt, and I scurry a few feet away from him. I drag in sharp gasps of air, shock solidifying my bones.
“Looks like I did a number on you, baby.” He rolls his neck. “You did one on me too.” Lifting his shirt, dark bruises spread like spilled ink over his ribs. “Hurts like a motherfucker.”