Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
“Normal? That’s not normal, that’s a robot!” The urge to strangle this man beats beneath my skin like a need.
A fucking urge.
Maybe I can kill him and rid Kane of his evil. Maybe Kane and his mother can finally reconcile. I suspected it before, but now, I’m sure. Grant is the reason Kane keeps his distance from Helena.
Yes, Kane probably still holds her accountable for what’s happened to him, but he also recognizes just how abusive his father is. He knows that the more he seeks his mom out or spends time with her, the more Grant will punish him, and probably take out his wrath on his wife.
Surely, if I kill Grant, the world will be a better place?
I reach a hand into my tote bag and feel for the scalpel I usually keep for self-defense.
“What I do with my family is none of your concern.” Grant’s gratingly condescending voice echoes in the air.
My fingers latch onto the scalpel case and I open it as I speak. “Have you ever felt sorry for the shit you’ve put him through since he was a kid? Have you ever wondered that maybe you stole his childhood and molded him into a gloomier version of what he could’ve been?”
“Sorry?” He says the word as if it’s an insult. “Why would I feel sorry when I saved him? I made him into the perfect man who can rightfully inherit my empire. He had to be a wolf or he would’ve been eaten by one.”
I scoff as I clutch the scalpel’s handle in my shaky hand. “So you tortured him, left permanent scars on his body, and broke his soul for his sake?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for the empire’s sake. He only exists to fulfill a role. We all do. Yours is to stay in your lane.”
“So it’s narcissism. You only brought him into the world so you could use him.” The pain stagnating inside me whirls and transcends the situation I got trapped in.
“He’s a Davenport. That’s his duty.”
“He’s not only a Davenport, he’s just Kane,” I murmur in a low voice he probably can’t hear as I stand up, shoving my hand with the scalpel in my pocket.
I don’t feel my legs, as if I’m floating on air.
My senses sharpen and a red mist covers my eyes.
This man needs to die.
For Vi.
For Kane.
For Helena.
For me.
My legs carry me with ease.
It’s funny how I got entangled in this entire mess to seek revenge, but right now, I only want to stab him to death.
“What were you murmuring to yourself?” he asks when I stop in front of him.
From this angle, the crucified Jesus looks looming, tall, the blood surrounding the holes in his wrists matching my red haze.
“I said Kane is just Kane. He’s not your plaything!” I shout as I pull out the scalpel and aim it at his throat.
Grant steps back at the last second and the scalpel only grazes his jaw. He grabs my hand and twists it so suddenly, a scream of pain bubbles out of me.
My grip loosens on the scalpel and it hits the ground with a clink as Grant kicks me in the stomach.
I fall to the harsh floor, coughing. A metallic taste fills my mouth and blood spills out of my lungs.
But I still crawl to the scalpel.
I’m going to kill him.
I’m going to kill him…
I’m going to kill him…
Just when I’m about to grab it, a shoe steps on my outstretched hand and I groan, then scream when he applies pressure.
Grant stands above me and motions somewhere behind me. He wipes the gushing blood from his jaw as he shakes his head.
“Looks like your time is up, Dahlia.”
My scream comes to an abrupt halt as something sharp pricks the back of my neck.
The scalpel turns blurry and a tear slides down my cheek.
As the darkness swallows me, my thoughts are of deep failure.
I’m sorry, Vi.
I’m sorry, Kane.
My senses come back in pieces—disjointed, hazy, but sharp enough that I jolt awake.
No matter how much I widen and blink my eyes, I only see darkness.
The air is thick, suffocating, reeking of mildew and something else—damp, rotting wood, maybe. A drip echoes in the distance, slow and methodical. It plants a seed of fear at the bottom of my stomach.
I try to move, but pain slices through my shoulders. The ache burns so much that everything snaps into focus.
My wrists are bound above me, the rough chains digging into my skin, pulling tight every time I shift. My bare feet barely touch the ground, just enough to feel the slick, wet floor beneath them, but not enough to steady myself.
Where am I?
Panic floods my chest, drowning out every coherent thought.
The thick darkness presses in on all sides as if the room itself is swallowing me whole. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust my sight, trying to see something, anything.