Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Mom’s personal butler wasn’t only a great part of my life but also Mom’s only friend, who followed her after her marriage to Regis. He was the one who listened to her and joined her on walks in the garden.
I didn’t give a fuck about an empire I resented, because Regis gave it more attention than he gave Mom, no matter how much she tried to win him over. But I cared about Mom’s friend because she loved him and he made her smile.
Still, Regis insisted I kill him, shoving the gun in my hand and saying in clipped words, “This man jeopardized your and our entire household’s safety as well as the empire we spent centuries building, Jude. I need you to not hesitate when you pull the trigger on traitors. Do you hear me, son?”
“No!” I screamed and fought even after Mom begged me not to.
I actually wish I’d killed the butler. A bullet to the head would’ve given him a quick death, unlike the torture the butler had to go through while my mom and I were forced to watch, gagged and strapped to chairs until he spit his last breath.
And then Regis scolded Mom for bringing him in and for not raising me ‘right,’ for teaching me ‘bad habits’ and allowing me to ‘throw tantrums to get what I want.’
Later that night, my mom overdosed on sleeping pills and I found her foaming at the mouth. She almost died.
Because of me.
So after that, I mindlessly killed whoever Regis told me to, because he realized he could threaten me with Mom in order to put me in the lane he’d specifically carved out for me.
We also made a deal. If he’d stop threatening to divorce my mom and give her the date nights she’s always begged him for, I’d become whatever he wanted me to be.
A weapon for power within Vencor.
The muscle who carried out his kills.
Top student.
Top athlete.
The Callahan empire’s perfect robot and the spare to Julian’s genius.
It didn’t matter as long as I got to protect my mom.
Julian called me an idiot for offering our dad my weakness on a platter, but Julian didn’t have a mom or a heart, or the feeling that he needed to protect someone with everything he had.
But that someone whom I shaped my whole life to shield from Regis’s cold shoulder and the whole fucking world is gone now.
And I’ve been on this killing spree to avenge her.
Bring her justice.
Fucking fill the hole her death has dug deep in my chest.
And if it means death to every single fucking person who was in that square, so be it.
So why the fuck…does seeing Violet in this state enrage me?
A lot of things about this fucking girl do—from the very first time she gave me that blue umbrella.
And it’s only gotten worse since.
I despise her naïveté, the way she just lies down and takes everything thrown her way, but most of all, I hate how she smiles even though her life is a mess and her journal is full of suicidal thoughts and a shit ton of trauma and low self-esteem that was caused by her mother.
And I shouldn’t have all these damn thoughts or feelings about someone from that day.
Someone who chose to stand by as that scum took away my mom—and the only light in my life.
And yet…
As Violet shakes uncontrollably and falls to the floor, heaving and wheezing, I throw the knife aside. The clattering of the metal is drowned out by the choked sounds she’s releasing as she bangs on her chest with her fist.
A panic attack, I realize, as I tower over her, looking down at her reddish hair that’s also smudged with blood.
I should let her rot. Or, better yet, just end her miserable life once and for all.
But then again, that’s what she wants, so that’s not going to happen.
I lower myself in front of her. This close, I can see the tiny freckles dusting her nose and upper cheeks like dotted stars on a moonless night. “I thought death didn’t scare you.”
She’s still wheezing, her other hand grasping at the floor for balance.
“Or is that only when your own life is on the line? Do other people’s deaths disturb you?” I reach out my bloodied hand and grab her cheek, lifting her head.
Pools of deep blue are marred with tears as she stares up at me while I smudge her pale cheek with blood. “Or is it because you’re squeamish?”
Her breathing is still sharp, irregular, but she’s no longer banging on her chest. I slide my thumb over her upper lip. It’s slightly bigger than the lower one, giving her a permanent little pout.
And I paint it in blood.
Her mouth. Her skin.
Even her soul should be red.
Her quivering lips part slightly, giving me the tiniest opening I shouldn’t entertain taking, but I do. I slide my middle finger inside, until it’s resting on her hot, wet tongue.