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)
Everything he said and did, from that first time in the arena to last night, was to keep me under control so I didn’t harm his friend.
To see how far I’d go before he crushes me.
A fresh wave of tears blurs my vision.
And it’s not only because I feel victimized or used. It’s deep rage.
The need to hurt him as much as he’s hurt me.
I want to punch his face and call him names. I want him to feel a sliver of the pain that’s ripping me open from the inside.
But I’d have to give up my sister’s safety if I were ever to consider seeing him again.
The sister he plotted to kill.
Kane and Jude.
They were the ones with the black rings my sister talked about in her journal.
The men who stalked her and made her life hell until she ended up in a coma.
I need to buy a gun. If I see them again, I’m shooting them between the eyes.
My dark thoughts disperse when the car comes to a halt in front of an old-looking house at the end of an empty suburban street.
The white fence is dirty and could use repainting, and the grass is tall and unkempt, as if no one has been at this place for months.
The partition between me and the driver lowers in a hush of mechanical movement before her voice echoes in the air. “We’re here, miss.”
I hear the click on the door unlocking and stare at the house, then the well-groomed driver, who I assume is also security detail, because I spotted her gun earlier. “Is my sister here?”
“Yes.” She looks at me through the rearview mirror. “The key is in the armrest.”
I open the compartment by my side and, sure enough, there’s a key branded #121.
My clammy fingers wrap around the cool metal and I exit the car.
As soon as I do, it drives away.
My heart is in my throat as I walk to the scratched-up white door.
The key doesn’t go in on the first try because of my sweaty hand.
On the second try, the door creaks open and I catch a glimpse of a baseball bat, then hear a furious battle cry.
My hand freezes on the knob.
The bat stops in midair.
The scream turns into a gasp.
Violet…?
For a moment, I think I’m in a dream. The light casts a shadow on her angelic features.
It’s really Violet.
She stands there, awake, alive, and so real, it knocks the breath from my chest.
Her strawberry blond hair looks thicker and glossier than I remember as it falls in soft waves, framing a face that’s no longer pale and hollow.
Her skin glows with health, flushed, alive, and her eyes—those deep, familiar blue eyes—are wide and filled with a spark I thought I’d never see again.
She looks…different. Still soft and demure, but there’s a void in her gaze. As if her soul was broken and she hasn’t exactly gathered all the pieces.
Still, I see my sister in those eyes.
Here.
Awake.
There’s grace in the way she holds herself, the way she looks stunning even when wearing a simple gray sleep shirt.
The bat falls from her hand and clatters to the old wooden floor as she whispers, “Dahlia.”
“Viiiii!” I jump her in a hug, wrapping my arms around her so tight, I’m surprised I don’t crush her.
My tears flow again from both joy and anguish.
Pain and relief.
Vi’s back.
Vi’s here.
She sniffles and hugs me tighter, her fingers stroking my hair. “Don’t cry.”
“Am not.”
“You so are.”
“You’re crying, too.”
“Am not!”
We both chuckle as we face each other, tears streaming down our cheeks.
I take her hands in mine and study her closely. “You okay? Do you feel any pain anywhere?”
She smiles through the tears. “I’m fine.”
“Is it true…? That you woke up a long time ago and made a deal with Julian to test his drug and be put in a coma?”
She hangs her head. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was scared. I still am.” Her hands shake, her face turning pasty white. “I…didn’t want to drag you into this, but I think I already have. I’m so sorry, Dahl. I really am. I’ll pay you back for everything.”
“Hey.” I stroke the tears on her face. “Nothing I ever do will compensate for what you’ve done for me all these years. You don’t have to be sorry. You’re the victim here.”
Her chin trembles and fresh tears form in her eyes, making them a darker denim blue. “I am not. The real victim is Susie Callahan, who was stabbed to death in front of me while I did nothing.”
“That…wasn’t your fault.”
“It is! It was! I could’ve stopped it, but I was a coward. I can…I can still hear her calling for help in my nightmares. All the time.” Vi falls to the floor, looking small and wounded.
I drop to my knees in front of her and hold her hands again. “You couldn’t have stopped it. The guy had a knife. Her tragedy doesn’t justify what Jude did to you.”