Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“What the fuck?” came the deep voice from the doorway.
He glanced up from yanking his jeans up his legs, sacrificing his briefs and socks. What he saw made him mutter, “Holy shit.”
If that was her damn boyfriend, he was huge. Like football player big. Ethan was not a football player. Not even close.
The guy quickly took in the situation and the second his face changed, Ethan knew he was fucking dead.
He finished buttoning his jeans and held up his palms. “Had no idea, dude. She tricked—”
With a bellow, the guy rushed him and Ethan could only brace for the impact.
The fucker probably was a linebacker because it felt like a damn train hitting him. He stumbled backwards, trying to catch his balance. If he went down, he was done. He needed to stay on his feet and do his best to fight the guy off so he could get the hell out of that damn house.
His head snapped back as he got hit with a sledgehammer under his chin. And then it whipped to the side as he was punched in the jaw with a right hook.
He tried to catch his breath and steady his feet, but he couldn’t…
Not before he was struck again. He couldn’t stop the backwards motion or his arms windmilling as he was knocked off his feet with help from a two-handed shove to his chest.
He went airborne and when he landed on his ass, his head barely missed the corner of the brick hearth.
By a damn cunt hair.
Fucking son of a bitch.
But before he could even attempt to get back to his feet, the boyfriend was on him, grabbing Ethan’s hair and using it to try to rip him to his feet. Ethan reached out and his fingers curled around the closest thing he could find.
He gripped the handle tighter and swung the poker with everything he could muster, cracking the guy upside the head.
A dull thud could be heard over his ringing ears and Ethan grimaced as warm blood splattered across his face and bare chest.
He blinked several times to try to clear his vision as he watched the boyfriend crumple to the ground in slow motion, like an accordion.
Holy shit.
Did Ethan just kill the fucker?
He blinked again and then he finally heard it.
The girl’s screams. The continuous shriek that wouldn’t stop. He didn’t even think she took a damn breath. She just kept wailing as she stood there with her hands pressed to her pale face, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open.
That fucking bitch. She caused all of this.
It was all her damn fault.
He should…
No, he needed to get the fuck out of there while he still could.
He struggled to get to his feet, almost falling over because he was so freaking dizzy. Once the spinning slowed a little, he pressed a hand to the side of his face and glanced at his fingers.
Blood. Not only the boyfriend’s but his, too.
His head throbbed like it was about to pop off his neck and he could only breathe through his mouth since his nose had to be broken.
But none of that mattered. He needed to escape.
He stumbled as he headed toward the back door, only catching himself in time by planting a hand on the wall. He stared at the bloody handprint left behind for only a second before spotting his T-shirt. Almost falling over as he leaned down to grab it, he didn’t even bother to pull it on before he continued to head toward the closest route of escape.
His heart was pounding so hard he wondered how it remained contained in his chest, while the voice in his head was yelling at him to get out of that house as fast as he could.
As he tried to turn the knob, it slipped in his hand, so he scrubbed his blood-slick fingers down his jeans. Finally, he could yank the door open and when he stumbled outside, he paused only for a few seconds to glance over toward Landry’s house. He could hear the music still playing and see the glow of the fire pit through the line of bushes, but fuck if he was sticking around to tell them what happened.
He might have just killed that asshole.
He needed to get the fuck out of there.
To go home.
Forget tonight ever happened.
Hope he’d soon wake up from this nightmare and be relieved it wasn’t reality.
That the bitch hadn’t just used him to piss off her boyfriend. Or make him jealous. Or whatever she had been trying to do when she used him as a tool in her fucked-up plan.
He yanked his T-shirt over his head as he made his way around to the front of the house and began to jog down the sidewalk barefoot.
He not only left his boots behind, he also left his freaking wallet.