Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Why?
I turn to ask the girl one more question, but she’s already beside me, gesturing to my feet. I decide to follow her again, since she’s gentle. Are all women like this? Gentle.
We leave through the door that I was not long forced through, and the sun smacks me in the face. Squinting my eyes, it takes me a moment to adjust. There’s an ocean bed of endless water in front of us. We left the dock? Dread fills my belly again. I’m so lost. Alone.
Strong.
The girl tugs my hand and I follow her upstairs and to yet another door. She presses it open and stands to the side, waiting for me to enter.
With a lingering look on her, I step through the darkness with a gulp. What the hell am I doing? No. I need to—I turn around to go back, but the slam of the door cuts daylight.
Turning, I rest against it, willing my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but every time I blink, I make it worse.
“Hello, Ivanya. I’m so glad to see you again.”
It’s him. The man in the suit.
His hand drops to his zipper, his ring catching my eye. Old and ugly. Like him.
Chapter 11
Ivy
Ispent a great deal of my life in positions that others would call terrifying more than they would weak. Most people are scared of having demons. Me? I’ve carried mine through my life every step of the way, used them as weights to build strength.
What I’ve done.
What I’m yet to do.
It’s a big fuck you to those who put them there in the first place.
Only all demons answer to a Devil, and people do not mention how most of the time, that asshole comes as everything you never knew you wanted.
So here I am. On Asher's Instagram just to see what people really have been saying, and, a bit to see if he has ever put her on his feed.
He hasn't. Not a single speck.
But as I fly through the photo grid, swipe after swipe, I pause at the last photo he shared of us. I mean, not many people would know it was me, but judging by the comments, everyone knew anyway. With his tatted arm hooked around my throat, and with nothing but my smile shown in the photo, it's obvious. That night was something else…
Actually, if I'm being honest, it could very well be one of the final times I ever saw him for who he was…
“Come on, Venom, stop being a buzzkill!” Asher's fingers lace through mine, rough and insistent as he drags me toward the arena entrance. The concrete vibrates beneath our feet from thousands of fans streaming through the gates. Rubber soles squeak on hardwood. “I got these tickets, hey!” His grip tightens and suddenly I'm yanked forward, colliding with the solid wall of his chest. His arm locks around my waist, holding me prisoner against him. “I got these tickets for us. Because it's my birthday.”
I tilt my head back toward him, his intensity burning through me with that familiar, unsettling precision.
“Fine.” The word tastes like surrender. “But only because as much as I'm a Bulls fan, I'm also a Kobe fan, and so, well…” My voice catches, betraying something I don't want to name. “I never got to see one of his games.”
We move with the current of bodies flooding through the turnstiles. Security guards bark orders. Kids in oversized jerseys bounce on their toes.
“Mmmhmm…” His knuckles graze my cheekbone, calluses catching on skin. The touch is feather light but it burns. Then his lips press against my forehead, warm and lingering, and I hate how my body responds, how it always responds to him. “It has nothing to do with me…”
His smirk radiates through his words, tempting me to slam my elbow into his ribs. Instead, I let him guide me through the metal detectors, past vendors hawking foam fingers and twenty-dollar beers, into the belly of the beast where twenty thousand people wait to worship at the altar of professional basketball.
After all that time together, why had I never asked about his family?
I swipe out of the app and shove my phone back into my pocket. The weather is ruthless tonight, but I like it. I want that. The recklessness of Mother Nature's temperament reminds us who is boss.
Snow catches moonlight across Mount Crow's peak. The descent stretches below us, steep, unforgiving, beautiful in its cruelty. We rode up from the mid-point like tourists, but the real mountain starts here. The Peak. She may just have a higher body count than me.
Winter games start tomorrow and I still haven't decided if I'm going, but right now, it’s the twilight shred. Hopefully this mountain does what it’s meant to do.
Protect.
Clipping up my boots, I yank the zipper on my jacket and shove my goggles onto my head. I strap in and weave through the clusters of bodies until I reach Parker's side, his ski poles jabbed into the snow beside him. I’m just in time to catch Punk bitching about the crowd.