Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 300(@200wpm)___ 240(@250wpm)___ 200(@300wpm)
My fingers slide up into his hair, gripping, pulling, desperate to hold on to this moment. But just like that, it is over before it began. He pulls back slightly, just enough to let our foreheads touch, both of us breathing hard. He smells incredible, like man and leather and a cologne I want to drench myself in.
“Is that what you wanted?” he rasps.
I blink up at him, chest heaving, lips swollen. “Yes.”
He steps back.
My heart breaks a little.
Just one step—but it feels like the distance between us is bigger than ever. His chest rises and falls, his jaw clenched so tight it looks painful. The storm behind his eyes shifts. The heat cools. Replaced by something sharp. He’s still angry, and I brace myself for what is going to come next.
He swipes a hand through his hair, the other still balled into a fist at his side. “You ever pull that kinda stunt again—runnin’ off, puttin’ yourself in danger, baitin’ me with some jealous shit—you’re out.”
I freeze and my heart stammers. His words burn, a blade through my chest.
“I mean it. This ain’t a fuckin’ game. You want to act reckless, go ahead—but not under my protection. Not under this roof. You don’t get to use your trauma like a fuckin’ weapon against people trying to help you.”
My heart cracks clean in two.
He sees it—hell, I know he sees it. But he doesn’t back down. Doesn’t soften. He’s already pulling away, mentally boarding up whatever door he just kicked open with that kiss. He’s crushing me and I can’t do anything to stop it. Before I can answer, he turns and walks away.
He leaves me standing there.
Breathless.
Bruised.
And more alone than ever.
THAT NIGHT, SLEEP IS elusive. I toss and turn, my mind refuses to quiet down. It is racing, not with thoughts of Cyrus—but of Talon. The way his lips crashed against mine and he kissed me like it actually meant something. And then... the cold. The sharp snap of his voice when he pulled away, as if he was only doing it to shut me up. The warning laced in every brutal word. I can still hear him: You ever pull that kinda stunt again—you’re out.
Mera gave me something to help me sleep, and I cave, taking it because I’m desperate. I just want to lay my head down and feel what everyone else feels, a deep comfort of knowing I’m in bed and I’m safe. The feeling of my body slowly sinking into the warm bed, drifting off to sleep without a care in the world.
It doesn’t happen like that, but I do fall asleep.
Eventually.
Until I’m awoken to the sound of voices shouting.
For a moment, I jerk upright, forgetting where I am. The familiar memories of the chaos I grew up in make me think I’m right back there. As I slowly come to, I remember where I am, and I slowly figure out that the voices sound panicked. Rubbing my eyes, I push out of bed and that’s when I smell it...
Smoke.
My head whips in the direction of my window, and although my room is dimly lit by the moonlight, the glow is not that of the moon, but instead an orange flicker. I stumble forward, adrenaline flooding my limbs as I rush to the window, staring out.
What I see makes my knees buckle.
Just outside of the front gates, something is burning. All I can see are flames, large and angry, catching onto the trees nearby.
I don’t think, I just move.
I run outside of my room and towards the gates where everyone is gathering. Wolfe is barking down the phone, no doubt to the fire department, and all the bikers are trying to gather what they can to put out the fire that is blazing. As I near it, my entire body jerks to a stop when I realize what it is.
This isn’t an accidental fire.
This is a large scarecrow, strung up to a wooden cross.
This is a message.
But that’s not the only thing that makes my blood run cold.
It’s the clothes it’s wearing.
It’s wearing one of my dresses, I would know them anywhere. We all had clothes that were uniquely ours.
The scarecrow has been dressed just like me.
I don’t even realize I’m screaming until Mera is holding me, shaking my shoulders, trying to get me to stop. The sound rips from my throat so violently it feels like it tears something inside of me. I’m shaking all over as the message hits, loud and clear.
“Hey, honey, it’s okay,” Mera soothes, rubbing her hands frantically up and down my back to calm me.
I finally stop screaming, now in some kind of shock as I stare at the horrifying image before me. A black smoke plume billows into the sky, thick and choking. The cross on fire is a harrowing reminder of what they are capable of, and they are making sure I get that message loud and clear.