Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
This is it.
I jump out of the closet, pounce onto the King’s back, and wrap my arm around his neck. He lets out a stifled grunt and drops Jack back onto the bed. Jack springs back to life and kicks the King in the gut, forcing him to bend forward.
The King shakes me off and lands a hook to my right cheek. I barely feel it, and I block a second punch before landing an uppercut under his chin. The King snarls and turns on me, his face red as he wraps his fingers around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I struggle to get out of his grasp, but I can’t.
Jack, however, sweeps his leg under the King’s feet, bringing his knees to the unforgiving tile floor of the hotel room. He loosens his grip on my neck just enough for me to shake loose and force his hands away from me. I pin them to the ground.
And—
What the fuck?
A scar.
A fucking scar on the palm of the King’s left hand.
A scar in the shape of an X.
I have one just like it on my own left hand.
It… It can’t be.
The King’s head bangs against the floor and he loses the gray knitted cap, revealing his medium-length dark hair.
The same way he wore it when we were kids.
There are a few slivers of gray tracing through it now, but there’s no mistaking his signature aesthetic—the half-dozen or so tufts of electric-green highlights popping out of his dark curls.
The King of Hearts is an old friend of mine. A friend who once forced me to torture and emasculate an innocent man in the name of exacting revenge on my middle-school bully.
Ray Sinclair.
29
BIANCA
I’m blazing down the highway, going nearly ninety miles an hour, weaving in and out of traffic like a madwoman.
Thank God no cops are out tonight.
I can’t afford to be stopped right now.
The sooner I get to the Caterpillar, the better.
Rouge knows. Rouge knows.
She doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough.
And sister or no sister, she won’t let me live with the knowledge of her dark deeds.
She certainly won’t let Harrison off the hook.
I shouldn’t have stayed at the Gilded Rose so long. I should have said “to hell” with the suitcases and just retrieved my car. I wasted fifteen precious minutes grabbing them and then listening in to Rouge’s conversation with the cop.
I got some important intel, I suppose.
Had I not listened in, I wouldn’t be aware of how urgent everything is. I certainly wouldn’t be going as fast as I am down the highway.
I slam on the brakes and lay on the horn as I nearly hit some old man going ten under. I quickly move around him, catching his middle finger in my rearview as he disappears into the distance.
I can’t blame him. I’m driving erratically.
Harrison is probably wondering where the hell I am. I should have gotten to the hotel ten minutes or so after he did. By the time I get there, he’ll have likely been there a half hour.
Has someone tried to kill Jack by now? Have they tried to do away with him, dismember him right then and there? Have—my heart clenches—they done something similar to Harrison when he came to Jack’s defense?
Jack is an average height, but he’s got a terrific build. He’s in the gym five times a week, has been since I met him. He’s got a fantastic chest and arms, nearly as impressive as Harrison’s.
The two of them can hold their own against a King. They’re built like linebackers, but they’re not completely invulnerable. But if all four Kings are there? Hardly a fair fight.
I wish I could call him. Make sure he’s okay, tell him to get the hell out of there. But his phone is in his suitcase, which is in my trunk.
I slam my foot against the gas. I’m nearly going a hundred now. I finally see the Forest Park exit. I take it and swing around the bend—nearly rolling the vehicle over in the process—and land in the Caterpillar Hotel parking lot. I’m the only car here, but fuck discretion.
We don’t have time.
30
HARRISON
I take a step back. “Ray?”
Ray grimaces, spitting out a wad of mucus and blood. “How dare you call me that, Ace? How dare you even speak to me in the first place?”
“No. I’m not a card. I’m just in disguise. It’s me. Harrison O’Rourke.” I swallow. “Harry O’Rourke.”
Ray drops his jaw slowly as it dawns on him. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, hoping that “old times’ sake” is more than just an expression. “Your old pal.”
He narrows his eyes. “Hardly an old pal. You ditched me after that night at the Dimpsey house.”
Jack stands over Ray, his eyes widened. “I’m sorry. You two know each other?”
I nod. “We were members of the same gang in middle school. Called it the Club.”