Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
The screen flickers. A video loads showing grainy night footage of a Jeep rolling up in front of Alexei’s place. Two men climb out. Both masked.
The first is clumsy, steps uneven, shoulders hunched like he doesn’t belong in his own skin.
The second rounds the hood with measured purpose. A rocket launcher gleams against his back. “That’s you,” Alexei says. “It’s your watch.”
“It’s not,” I breathe out. “Mine has more garnets.” I watch the man as his arm shifts, wrist turning, and the ink on his skin flashes under a streetlight. I freeze. My pulse thunders in my ears. “Holy fuck,” I murmur. Betrayal feels like knives down my torso. “I know him.”
Alexei leans closer, his men tensing at his sides. “Who?”
My head tips back, rage sliding into place like a blade locking in. “We need to find Ella. Now.”
THIRTY-SIX
Ella
I’m bouncing out of unconsciousness along with the car bumping over uneven roads. The trunk rattles around me, the carpet rough under my cheek, the air stale and hot. It smells faintly of leather polish mixed with gasoline, with a trace of citrus air freshener trying and failing to cover it. Every jolt slams my head against metal, pain sparking at my temple. My ankle throbs, sharp and angry, though I don’t remember twisting it. Panic scrapes through my chest.
Who threw me in this trunk?
I try to think through the options. I’m not even sure who the guy who hit us was. Just how well do I know Bronco? Was he there? I don’t know what happened. I really don’t. My thoughts keep sliding, foggy and uneven, as the car rocks me hard against the side. Two huge sneezes take me, and my head throbs. My nose hurts. It feels more like an allergy attack than a cold, and I don’t have any medicine.
Justice. His face swims across my mind. I need him. Now.
Finally, what seems like hours later, we come to a stop. I roll forward into the front of the trunk and crack my elbow. Pain jerks up my arm.
The trunk opens and bright light blinds me. A hood shoves down over my head, coarse fabric scratching my face. “Hey!” I yell, reaching out and scratching at air. My entire world spins, black and suffocating, as hard arms grab me and lift me against a solid chest.
His smell isn’t one I know. Not like Justice. It could be any of the men I was in the elevator with. My body presses against muscle, the beat of his heart steady through cloth. His footsteps pound, echoing on hollow pavement. My eyes water. Are we in a parking garage? It smells like damp concrete, motor oil, and old exhaust.
A ding echoes. I sneeze into the hood. Gross. We step into an elevator. I hear the doors close. I thrash, twisting, but he’s too strong.
“Justice is going to kill you for this.” My voice is muffled through the hood.
He doesn’t answer.
“I’m going to kill you for this.” The words burst out, and raw fury ripples through me along with fear. Terror, really. I reach up, but one beefy hand locks around my wrist, pinning me in place. I slam my shoulder against his chest. He doesn’t even grunt. Jerk.
The elevator lurches. We’re descending. I yelp, sharp, because I had expected to rise. No. We’re going down. Crap. So that’s where they bury the bodies.
“Who are you?” I demand. I blink rapidly, though there’s nothing to see. My head pounds, my ears ring. Every breath tastes of fabric and oil. The doors part, and cool air rushes around us, lifting the edges of the hood.
I sneeze again. Darn it.
He walks across a hard surface. The hum of machines thickens, low and steady. I’m dropped into a chair, metal biting through the seat of my dress, and the hood is yanked off.
Corinda stands in the middle of the TimeGem server chamber, hands hovering over a diamond that glows faintly with a tinge of yellow. She steps back. Pale. Her eyes shimmer a faint yellow and her fingers tremble hard. The place has been cleaned, but damage still shows on the walls and floor.
“Corinda?” I snap, mouth dry, tongue thick as cotton.
My stepsister’s hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders, but her green sweater and jeans look neat, as if she’d dressed down for a casual day instead of a kidnapping. Sure, we don’t like each other, but how could she do this? Does she think I killed her mom? Does she even know that Sylveria is dead?
I turn … and see Wynd. My breath catches. Not Wynd. Not Justice’s friend and cousin. Confusion blankets me before reality slaps me hard. “Bastard,” I hiss. Then I turn my head and sneeze again.
Wynd shifts left, his gaze locked on Corinda. His presence fills the room, the weight of it pressing the air thinner. His voice cuts through the hum, low and certain. “Did you get it charged?”