Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
“And why the fuck are you here?” Jude snaps in my face.
I don’t look at him. Don’t move.
Will not move.
Because Preston is on the other side of that door with his chest cut open and his heart still fighting, and I am done leaving him alone with people who don’t know how to fucking protect him.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“I asked you a question,” Jude grinds out.
“Cut it out.” Kane pushes off the wall, watching me closely as he paces. No idea what he did or didn’t see in the park. I don’t even care.
“I want you gone,” Jude says.
“No,” I say coolly, my fingers pausing because I finally notice the red covering them—my nails, my knuckles, my hands. They’re streaked with blood.
Preston’s blood.
I curl my hands into fists as they tremble uncontrollably.
Jude grabs my jacket’s collar, slamming me against the wall. “Get the fuck out of here, Marcus.”
“I said I’m not going anywhere,” I say slowly, but my voice is boiling over with rage. “If anything, you’re the one who needs to scram for failing to save him.”
“The fuck you just say?” he snarls.
“Want me to spell it out for you?”
Maybe I need to snap his neck for being the reason Preston is in the OR. If I didn’t know Preston would hate me for hurting his “bestie,” I’d choke this motherfucker in his sleep.
“Go fight outside,” Lawrence commands, his voice hard but cool as if it’s not his goddamn son who’s lying on an operating table.
I slide my gaze to him. “Is that all you have to say when your fucking son is facing death? Go fight outside? You have no other goddamn reaction?” I release a low, mocking laugh. “God, you’re all the same. Every single corner of your fucking empire is rotten to the core.”
Lawrence doesn’t even look at me and just continues to stare at the door.
“That’s enough.” Kane squares up to me. “Leave before I have someone escort you out using unpleasant methods, Marcus.”
“And let you big shots handle everything, right?” I fist my hand in Jude’s collar, laughing in his face. “Like the way you got him shot, right, Callahan? Useless piece of shit.”
“You fucking—” Jude slams me against the wall harder, and I just won’t stop laughing.
I can’t.
“What? You’re going to stand there and tell me you didn’t, in fact, invite death upon your supposed best friend?”
“It’s not his fault.” Two girls hurry toward us—Dahlia and the girl who just spoke.
The reason Preston isn’t with me right now.
Fucking Violet.
“It’s my fault,” she whispers. “Preston did that to protect me—”
“That’s right. It should’ve been you,” I say in a deadpan voice.
A brutal punch lands on my face, and something warm trickles down my nose and the corner of my lip. “Shut the fuck up, Osborn!”
“But I’m right. She should be the one in that room right now—”
Jude hits me again, the sound of the thwack reverberating around me.
You know what?
I lift my fist and punch him, letting him have a taste of the aggression and helplessness echoing inside me.
I rain down regrets and what-ifs and the depressing reality I have to live in.
There’s a lot of talking around us, Kane calling his people, Lawrence speaking to Violet, but I don’t hear them over the violence.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
It’s all because of this idiot who couldn’t protect his woman, so Preston had to.
Of course he would’ve.
He believes he’s an unfeeling monster or a high-functioning narcissist, but he’s truly the warmest person I’ve ever met. If he cares about you, he’ll go above and beyond.
For weeks, he’s been buying all sorts of shit for Mom and me. Last week, he single-handedly changed the entire Wolves team’s gear to premium jerseys and equipment.
I thought it was Serena trying to bribe me, but I found out it was him.
“It’s fine. I can afford it,” he says, blushing a bit as we skate in the arena alone at one in the morning because he couldn’t sleep.
He’s only in his compression shirt and shorts, looking like a snack waiting to be unwrapped. It’s categorically impossible to keep my hands off him, so I glide in front of him as he leans against his stick.
Preston sizes me up, his eyes narrowing to slits. “You better not dream of taking our championship, though.”
“No promises. Besides, we’re already taking it. First place, remember?”
“That’s because Jude isn’t in top form.” He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes. “My highness has to keep the team afloat, but I’ll be coming for that championship. Won’t take it easy on you in the next Vipers versus Wolves game.”
“When have you ever?”
He grins. “True that.”
“Though you did avoid me.”
“Did not!”
“Yes, you did. Since college, I believe?” I reach out a gloved hand, wrap it around his waist, and slam him against me, making his stick clatter to the ground. “Scared of little ole me?”