Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35499 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I keep my head slumped, chin to my chest, and try to control my breathing. There are two other people here. When I lift my eyes up, I see Wyatt at the window. He’s looking out, fingers tapping against glass. Cash paces the room.
They smell like money, even from here.
I'm in what appears to be a hunting shack. Off grid if the one kerosene lamp burning somewhere to my right is anything to go by. It's still dark. Same night? If so, it's the wee hours of the morning.
But there's no telling how long I've been out. Could already be tomorrow for all I know.
I've been in this cabin before. Eleanor took pictures of me everywhere. And after I turned eighteen, these photo shoots got more and more… planned. Professional. If these fucking boys knew just how well I knew their mother, they'd kill me.
Bad enough I know their sister better.
Savannah.
Just thinking her name makes my heart hurt. Just picturing her, up against the silo wall, skin silver in the moonlight. Her mouth on mine, her body arching. Then light, sudden and brutal. Her brothers. Men with rifles.
Her scream as they dragged her away, still echoing in my skull.
The rage builds slow and cold. It doesn't cloud my thinking—it sharpens it. Makes everything crystalline.
If they've hurt her, I'll tear this place apart with my teeth. I'll hunt them across every acre of their precious ranch. I'll become the demon they named me.
Even if she's untouched, they're all dead men walkin’ to me.
They just don't know it yet.
I keep my breathing steady, my body slack. Let them think I'm still unconscious while I allow my mind the freedom it craves to plan revenge.
Patience is just rage on a longer fuse.
Suddenly Cash mutters, "Family fucking legacy." His voice is pitched low but meant to be heard. "Six generations of Ashbys, and this is what it comes to." His boots stop. I can feel him lookin’ at me. "Trailer trash with prison ink thinking he has rights to what's ours."
He starts moving again, faster now. Agitated.
"She was supposed to marry well. That was the deal. That was always the fucking deal." A thud as his fist hits something wooden. "Mother made it clear. The land passes through the bloodline. And what does Savannah do? Spreads her legs for a Kane."
He says my name like it's something rotten in his mouth.
Wyatt is still standing by the window, a darker shadow against the night. He doesn't speak, but his silence feels like judgment. The patient kind. The kind that waits for you to move wrong before it pulls the trigger.
I test the rope binding my wrists. Tight, but not professional. There's give where the fibers cross. If I work it right, I can make space. Just need time.
"Three fucking years we kept her clean," Cash continues, circling back to where he started. Like a dog chasing its tail. "Three years rebuilding what he destroyed. And the minute he's out—"
He kicks something that skitters across the floor. I keep my breathing even, head down. I'm counting steps to the door. Measuring the distance to Wyatt's boots. Calculating how much blood I can afford to lose and still make it to the tree line.
"Where the hell is Colt?" Cash suddenly demands, voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "He was supposed to be here."
Wyatt clears his throat. "Said he couldn't make it."
"Couldn't make it?" Cash's voice rises. "This is family. This is Savannah."
"He's been... different lately." Wyatt's voice is measured, careful. "Past few months, he's barely at the ranch. Misses meetings. Doesn't answer calls."
"That's not like him."
"No," Wyatt agrees. "It's not."
A pause stretches between them, loaded with something I can't quite name.
I keep my face slack, storing this away. Something's off with the brother. Something they don't understand yet.
Cash's head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing like he's just realized the prey he thought was dead is still breathing.
"Well, look who decided to wake up." He crosses the room in three strides, crouches until his face is level with mine. His breath smells like whiskey and entitlement. "You think I don't see what this is? What you're doing?"
I stare back, let my silence fill the space between us.
"Savannah Ashby doesn't belong to you." He says her name like it's property with a deed attached. "She never did. She never will. That girl was born for something better than some ex-con's come stain on her family name."
The rope burns against my wrists as I work it, but my face stays still. Dead-eyed. Prison-calm.
"You think I don't know?" Cash's voice drops lower. "You've been circling our family since you were a kid. My mother—" He stops, jaw working. "Eleanor saw something in you. God knows what. Took all those pictures."
My pulse quickens, but I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Just keep breathing through the blood in my mouth.