Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Go to sleep,” he coos. But I don’t need his encouragement as the darkness takes over.
CHAPTER 17
Hawke
“Not many people surprise me. I certainly wasn’t expecting it from you,” Braxton says, standing at my front door late the next evening.
This guy pisses me off, and I can’t believe I felt the need to actually call him myself. I stayed with Ivy all fucking night and all morning. I don’t think she realizes how much she slept. And I stayed in that fucking chair, imagining all the ways I should’ve killed that fucking dickhead who thought he could take advantage of her. But make no mistake… he will die.
“You just going to stare me down or put cash in my hand?” Braxton says.
“You’re such a dick,” I grumble, reminding myself of all the reasons why I called him and why I shouldn’t kill my cousin’s new boyfriend.
“And you’re an asshole. So what do you need?” His smile brightens, and I wonder if the reason I don’t like him is because we’re similar. Most likely. He’s cocky, opinionated, and antagonizing. Had we met under other circumstances, I might’ve liked him.
He puts his hands in his pockets as if he has all the time in the world. But I don’t. “Early hours are usually the best for murder, wouldn’t you say?” I’m not surprised that he figured it out so quickly since he tracks anything Ivanov-related. I was messy, kicking that guy’s ass at the party, and reports most likely have already been made. Ones that only this fucker can make disappear. Something he’s been doing for years without us realizing.
“Which hospital is the fucker at?” I ask.
“Cough up the money first.” He smirks. I pull out my phone and transfer the money. “I could’ve texted the address to you, so why did you call me over?”
I grind my teeth. I didn’t exactly want to call him. But I also refuse to let that fucker who tried to hurt Ivy still be breathing by the time she wakes up again. She asked me not to tell any of her friends or family. If I call Ford, who I trust the most, he’ll tell Billie. I could call my parents, but the Walkers are good friends with my uncle Alek. We’re all interwoven, and this new fucker seems like the only option who can clean my mess, even after I murder the fucker in the hospital.
But most importantly… “I need you to watch Ivy while I’m out for an hour.” I step to the side, inviting him into my home.
His eyebrows furrow. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because I know you’ll keep your mouth shut. You want to be accepted into the family, right?” I grit.
“Hope’s mom already loves me,” he says matter-of-factly as he steps inside. This guy is such a dickhead. “You know, this is usually something my little shortcake would handle. This guy is just her type, you know—a man who hurts women.” It’s only become recent knowledge for a lot of us that my cousin is a serial killer who targets men who try to hurt women, but this asshole is mine.
“This is personal, and I’m not a patient man. I have cameras around the house, and I swear to God if you touch her or—”
He puts his hand up. “Let me assure you, the only woman I like to fuck is your sweet little cousin.” Asshole. “I didn’t think there was anything between you and Ivy Walker anyway.”
“That’s none of your business. And besides, we look out for one another here,” I say as I push past him. I don’t want to leave her, but I’ll self-implode if I don’t finish the job. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I found her like that. I wish I’d killed him then.
I’m walking toward my car as he calls out from behind me, “Nothing happened to her, by the way.” I turn to face him. “I watched the footage just to make sure.” Relief rushes through me, but that knowledge doesn’t change anything.
“Just because it didn’t happen this time doesn’t mean the same fucker won’t try it again to someone else.” I turn and continue to my car, that lethal edge cracking through to the surface. This part of me, that I summon like a god, has a mind of its own. I know I’m impulsive. I know I’m consumed by it. But every time I welcome it, I enjoy the thrill of power it offers me.
I’m checking my cameras on my phone constantly, even as I walk through the hospital, ignoring those I pass as I stride in purposefully, still with vomit on my shirt. I see Braxton standing across the room from her as she sleeps curled up in a ball, short blonde hair fanned over my pillows. I wanted someone with her in case she vomits again and doesn’t find the bucket beside her.