Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Duane Kelly, hitman for the Grady Clan, one of the men that tried to hurt my wife.
The cameras spotted him. Took Zach’s team longer than it should’ve but they singled him out as the shooter’s point guy. He was in the casino running interference and keeping an eye out, clearly a part of the plan, and he split the moment things went wrong.
He tried to hurt her. My fucking wife.
If I don’t care about her, if I can really stop myself from loving her, then why am I here right now?
I pull the gun from my waistband. I could turn around and head back to the casino. There’s no reason to risk myself, not for a woman that was going to stab me in the back.
But the thought of leaving Duane alive makes me sick. He came after Fallon, my Fallon, my fucking wife, and I can’t continue to exist in the same world as him.
Which means he has to die.
I slip from the shadows after counting to a hundred. There’s no motion, no noise. I jump the fence, hurry to the back door, and listen intently. A football game’s on the TV. There are no other voices—I don’t know how many of the Grady guys are inside, but I believe he’s alone. I suspect they’re spread out in different rentals, lying low.
I kick in the door and go gun-first.
The kitchen’s empty. I hear someone curse and the sound of footsteps as I run after him. The front door’s open and I sprint through it right as Duane throws himself into the car. As he turns the key, I lean up onto the hood, aim my pistol at his face, and pull the trigger.
His brains splatter against the seat. I keep shooting, even though he’s more than dead, until my magazine is empty.
Duane’s corpse slumps sideways as a dog barks in the distance. I shove my gun back into my pants, hop off the car, and walk away.
They never should have come after my girl.
One down. Eight to go.
Chapter 38
Fallon
After three miserable days, Jayson comes home.
He says nothing. He appears in the doorway, stares at me with these sunken, black-bagged eyes, before heading up to his room. I watch him go, heart racing, feeling sick. My only human contact’s been Casey and the guards, except the guards won’t talk to me.
I don’t know what’s happening. Maybe he’s only here to get some things, or maybe this is more permanent, but I can’t get my hopes up. I stand, adjusting my messy bun, and really wish I had on something a little cuter—not a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.
But a strange thing happens. Just when I thought I’d given up, when I’d cried enough and I was starting to imagine what my sad, miserable life was going to be like with a husband that hates me stuck in a family that thinks I’m noting more than a worthless traitor, hope begins to bloom.
Jayson’s back. He’s here, in the condo, and that means so much more than I ever thought it could.
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I reach the doorway. Not moving, not speaking, only looking down at his hands. His shoulders are slumped like a weight’s holding him down, and he doesn’t look over at me as I linger, feeling a fire in my veins. Jayson’s still beautiful, still perfect, even if he looks like he hasn’t slept in a few days and his clothes are rumpled.
He’s still the man I fell for.
“I’ve been hunting them,” he says which jars me back into reality.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I admit, afraid of saying the wrong thing. For once in my life, my mouth is failing me. All I want to do is explain to him, make him understand. Instead, my lips are twisted shut.
“The men that tried to hurt you. I’ve killed three of them so far.”
I stare at him in shock. “You did what?”
“Zach and I have been working on it. Of the nine men still remaining, I believe five of them were involved. I killed two of those five. Three are left.”
I can barely understand, but I know what he means. The Grady men my brother sent, the traitors. The ones that want the war more than they want me to keep living. Men willing to murder a member of their clan if it means starting the fight again.
Monsters. Worse than monsters.
And some part of me recognizes myself in them. Wasn’t I willing to do the same thing? I wanted to hurt Jayson for my own selfish reasons, even if it meant restarting the war.
I told myself I’d do it in a way that didn’t bring hell down on us, but that was always a fantasy.
“Why?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Nobody tries to hurt my wife and gets to live.”