Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67362 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
My own heart hammers in my chest. It isn’t like I do this all the time. Hurt people, chase girls down, and snap their necks, and had it not been for her seeing what we did, I wouldn’t even think about doing this.
“You want to say something?” She nods as much as she can within my hold. “Are you going to scream if I take my hand away? Because if so, I’m going to have to hurt you.” Who am I kidding? I’m going to have to hurt her anyway.
Shaking her head frantically, she pleads with me with nothing more than her eyes, and because I’m a glutton for punishment, I slowly lift my hand.
Truthfully, I’m not sure why I do it, maybe because I want to hear her voice and see if it’s as beautiful as her face, or maybe because I want to give her a chance to speak her peace. Either way, I remove my hand, setting myself up for failure.
As soon as her full lips come into view, she starts talking. “Please, don’t kill me. I swear, I won’t say a word to anybody. I really didn’t see anything. Please…please, please. I take care of my grandma, and she doesn’t have anyone else. Please,” she begs for her life, and all I can do is watch her swollen lips move while she talks. So pretty, so kissable. I want to taste them. I don’t understand why I’m so taken with her.
“What’s your name?” I ask her even though I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let her talk either. I shouldn’t even look at her. All of this is going to make it ten times harder to kill her.
“S-Stella,” she tells me through trembling lips.
Stella…
“W-what’s y-your name?” she stutters, her eyes darting around, and I can’t help but smile at her effort to be brave.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you that, sweetheart.”
Hope blooms in her eyes, “Does that mean you’re not gonna kill me?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say, only then realizing that indeed I am unsure if I can kill her anymore. Surely Stella will squeal, and I couldn’t blame her if she did. If I were in her shoes, I’d be pissing myself. Imagining my hands wrapping around her slender neck and squeezing the life out of her has my stomach-churning. Can I kill an innocent? I just watched James die, and I feel no remorse, but he was a disgrace to humanity, so I probably did the world a favor by letting him go. She, on the other hand, is a different story.
Then again, what is the alternative? Easton and I going to jail for the rest of our lives? Can I spare her life and endanger ours? Could I harm her just to keep my ass out of prison and my family name out of the gutter?
I don’t know…
Rolling off her, I move to a standing position and pull her up with me. I doubt she’s going to walk back with me to Easton. In one swoop, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder. She weighs hardly anything, which only adds to the guilt of hurting her. How can I kill some innocent girl, who is half my size and weight?
“What… what are you doing?” she asks, her voice frantic. Her hands slap against my back before she starts fisting the material of my sweater.
“I guess we’re gonna take a vote on if you’ll live or die,” I say as I carry her back to the car. To my surprise, she goes limp. I half expected her to be scratching my back, kicking her legs out, and maybe screaming. But instead, her limp body hangs over my shoulder as she lets me carry her like a sack of potatoes. I don’t even think she is crying anymore.
Has she given up? As soon as I walk around the corner and Easton comes into view, he gives me a questionable look.
“Did you kill her?” he asks once we’re within earshot.
“Not yet.” At my words, I can feel Stella’s grip on my sweater tightening. Okay, so she still has a little fight in her.
“I’m going to be sick,” her strained voice meets my ears. “Please let me down. I think I need to throw up.”
Not wanting her to puke all over me, I place her back down on her feet. As soon as I do, she tries to get away, but I keep an iron grip on her wrist.
“Don’t even think about it,” I growl.
She takes a few steps before doubling over, vomit pouring from her mouth and all over the ground. I keep hold of one arm, pulled back, while she uses her free hand to steady herself on the side of the dumpster.
Easton walks up to us, his gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. I know immediately what he is thinking because it’s the same thing I’m thinking. Bent over like this, her perky ass is pushed out, and it’s hard to ignore how perfectly shaped it is. Round and yet firm.