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)
Tears stream down her face as she trembles uncontrollably. “I just…I just want you to be safe. I hate for anything to happen to Dahlia either. She’s been the only color in my life lately, and I begged Grant to let her go, but you know he never listens to me. I don’t want her to be hurt, but I would hate losing you more.”
“You already lost me fifteen years ago, Mother.”
I let her go and push past her as I stride through the mansion, down the dim halls with the ugly dark-green wallpaper.
Throughout the years I’ve been walking these halls, I’ve only felt numbness and, lately, the consolation that this will soon come to an end.
But right now, my muscles are tense, my steps wide.
I’ve never rebelled against my father, and it wasn’t because I couldn’t. After I hit puberty, I became as big as he is and even more muscular. If I’d wanted to hit him, I would’ve.
But violence is not my style, and I refused to be molded into a copy of him.
So I connived behind closed doors. I gathered all the intel about his trusted executives and used it to turn those pigs against him. I actively sabotaged each of his new ventures, starting talks within the company and even Vencor.
I didn’t want to physically harm Grant. That wouldn’t have accomplished anything.
Seeing his empire crumble before his eyes, however? Witnessing the son he labeled a weakling take over?
That would break him.
Two of my father’s men stand guard in front of the dungeon’s metal door, buff, muscular, their gazes mean.
They’re part of the crew my father uses to do his dirty work. Some thugs who specialize in intimidation and breaking bones.
The bald one extends an arm. “No one is allowed in.”
“Step away. I won’t repeat myself.”
“Boss said no one—” I pull out my gun with the silencer and shoot him between the eyes.
His friend reaches for his weapon, but I shoot him in the face before he can act.
Blood splatters on my face, reddening my gaze.
They both fall to the ground with a thud, and I step over them as I sheath my gun.
The moment I open the door, everything comes to a halt. The place reeks of dampness and rot, the familiar stench of cold stone and blood curling into my nostrils.
But that isn’t what makes the world stop.
It’s Dahlia.
The white light casts a harsh shadow on her face as she hangs from the ceiling, her body limp, dripping wet clothes clinging to her discolored skin.
Water pools beneath her feet, reflecting the light like shattered glass. Her features are lifeless, devoid of the cheerful and defiant energy she wears like a badge of honor.
Her soaking hair is plastered to her skin. Blood gushes from where the chains dig into her flesh, deep-red rivers trickling down her arms, mixing with the water that drips from her clothes.
Her eyes are clamped shut and she’s shaking.
Every breath she takes is a thin cloud of mist that barely escapes her lips before dissolving.
The sour tang of sweat and blood sharpens and fills my senses as I spot Grant standing in front of her, tall, erect, with that sadistic gleam in his eyes as he approaches Dahlia with a whip in hand. She flinches as he gets closer, a tremor quaking her entire body.
Something inside me snaps.
All the torture I’ve lived through pales compared to this. No matter how brutal they were, how painful it got, I was born into this. It’s what was expected of me.
Dahlia is fucking different.
Grant’s third lackey approaches me. “You’re not supposed to be here—”
I shoot him in the head and bypass him.
My father finally turns in my direction. He has a bandage on his chin that, according to Samuel, is due to a cut he had when he came back, and he was cursing Dahlia for it.
That made me so fucking proud.
He might have kidnapped her, but my wildflower didn’t leave without a fight.
My father looks at his dead man and narrows his eyes on me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Kane?”
I let the gun rest at my side. “You gave me your word. You said you wouldn’t touch her.”
“That was before I learned how much you actually gave up for this nameless bitch. She’s a liability that needs to be taken care of.”
Trembling uncontrollably, Dahlia flutters her eyes open. Their color flickers between brown and yellow as she shakes her head and mouths, “Go, Kane. Please.”
That fucking girl thinks she can protect me, even though she’s hanging from the fucking ceiling.
What the actual fuck?
I burst out laughing, holding the gun flat against my temple.
It hits me then. Seems that aside from the chains my father wrapped around my wrists, I subconsciously shackled myself, too.
I believed his hypocritical speech about ‘the Davenport bond’. Somehow, even though I grew taller and much stronger than him, I never considered hurting him physically like he hurt me.