Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
“There for him?” I try to readjust, pain slicing through my shoulder from being shoved onto the floor by his guys. With a grunt, I sit up against the side of a chair. “She told him to kill himself. She gave him all the reasons why he should do it. Your evil spawn led him to the cliff’s edge and kicked the back of his knees! And his name is Steven. Fucking say his name! Remember his name. I will never let Molly forget it.”
Archer lifts an eyebrow while returning the book to the shelf. “You’ll never see my daughter again, so I think she’ll have the rest of her life to forget.”
His words settle into my gut like a knife, twisting and digging deeper. He’s going to kill me.
“Tell me.” Archer sits in the chair across from my spot on the floor, folding his hands between his spread legs. “Were you going to voluntarily have sex with me to insert your claws into my family?”
Voluntarily?
“Were you going to wait until my daughter despised you before telling her I was fucking her worst enemy?” He laughs. “It’s brilliant, really. I probably would have done the same thing if I were in your shoes. After all, some things are worse than death.”
“Then let me go.”
“Can’t.” He drums his fingers together. “You’re the bait.”
“For Jack?”
“Jack?” Wrinkles line Archer’s forehead. “Jackson.” He nods slowly. “That’s right. He changed his name and never changed it back. We trained together. Did he tell you that? Well, we didn’t train for the same job. He trained to kill people; I trained to determine if he was of sound mind to do it … to keep doing it.” He grins. “Have I lost you? Did he tell you he was an assassin?”
I don’t respond.
Archer’s gaze drifts around the room with a slow sigh. “He was good at it. Too good. The epitome of a natural-born killer. Had they not harnessed his ‘potential,’ he might have been a serial killer hunting innocent people. I did multiple psychological assessments on him, and the guy’s not right—zero attachment. But …” He meets my gaze again and shrugs. “The final decision wasn’t mine. So they gave him an arsenal, and he used it like Rambo.”
He’s wrong. Jack’s attached to his family. I think he’s even attached to me. And he’s not a natural-born killer. The eyes don’t lie.
“What’s that look?”
I shake my head.
“You don’t believe me?”
I continue to shake my head.
“I’ll be right back.” Before he reaches the door, he turns and smirks. “Don’t go anywhere.”
I struggle again to free my hands, but there’s no way out. They’re zip-tied along with my ankles. I can’t physically save myself, so I must convince him to let me go. This isn’t my battle. I don’t have to be the bait. Jack’s coming for him without knowing I’m here.
“Oh, good. You’re still here.” Archer closes the door. “I found these in my safe. I’m not sure why I kept them. A sixth sense told me I’d need them for a rainy day. And I think storms are headed our way. How appropriate.” He pulls photos from a letter-sized envelope. “I lost count. And god only knows what his number is now, but Jude’s kill number was higher than anyone else’s.” He shows me one picture at a time, holding each one in my face before tossing it on the floor next to me.
Dead people. Mostly men, but a few women. Some of them have bullets in their heads, like Archer’s bodyguards at the carnival. Others have their throats slashed. Some are missing body parts—including several who are decapitated. There must be over a hundred photos.
I flinch and turn my head at one that’s nothing more than a torso—missing all four limbs and the head.
“Ah yes … this one was personal to Jude. I don’t remember why, but he killed him slowly.”
Jack’s words replay in my head. “I’m going to remove his hands one finger at a time. Then, I will carve my knife into his face and remove his tongue and lips. And because I’m certain he’s looked at you inappropriately, I’ll shove the tip of my knife into his eyeballs just for good measure.” Jack’s words relentlessly echo.
Killing Archer will be personal because of me because I couldn’t walk away and deal with my grief like a normal person. I couldn’t take Eloise’s advice.
John used to say “no regrets” about everything. Not me. I’ve spent my life regretting so many decisions. And I have to wonder if John said those words to himself before he put a bullet in his brain. If there’s life after death, is he somewhere seeing the bigger picture and feeling regret?
If I could do it all over again, I would have torn up the letter from Molly and gone home. That would have meant I would not have fallen in love with Jack. And that would have been a missed opportunity for my heart, but this whole scenario would be different. Archer would still die, but not like the grotesque pictures on the floor. Slade would have stayed with Livy. And Jack would be reunited with his family by now.