Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Her being in my house has become one hell of a ticking time bomb chained around my dick.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder—Caleb. I ignore it. But then he calls again.
I hear him shouting before I get the device to my ear.
“What the he–”
“Fuck. Jude, hurry up and get to the utility room in the basement. Bob got Ria and… Shit–” The line goes dead seconds before Bob’s pickup flies past me in a trail of dust.
Anger burns over my skin, and I press the gas pedal to the floorboard, speeding down the drive until the car comes to a screeching halt in front of the house. I rush into the basement and skid to a stop in the doorway of the utility room. My stomach kinks and knots like snakes curling around one another.
Tor lies completely naked in a pool of blood, her blank gaze aimed at the ceiling as her chest rises and falls on shallow breaths. Caleb is on his knees beside her with his hands pressed over her throat.
“Fuck,” I whisper, rushing across the room.
Caleb’s panicked gaze darts up to me. “I need you to keep pressure on this while I grab a kit.”
I drop to my knees, and Caleb and I quickly exchange places.
Blood wells between my fingers as I take in the gashe on her throat. What the fuck did that sick bastard do to her? The same thing Tom did to my mom and Grace. Because he wants to pay back anyone associated with Tom. My stomach turns at the thought, then rage ignites inside me at the hypocrisy. When I find that asshole, I’ll make him pay for this shit.
Tor’s glazed over gaze focuses on me. Tor reaches for my wrists, attempting to pull it away. “Stop…”
“You’re not dying.”
She closes her eyes, and tears slip from her lashes. A toxic combination of anger and guilt wash through me, battering my conscience while I watch him close the wound on her throat. What was I supposed to do here, though? Let her go?
Anyone who wasn’t a selfish bastard would have. I keep my hands over her throat, telling myself I can fix this.
Caleb hurries back into the room, ripping open one of the medical kits and dumping the contents on the floor. “I told you this was bullshit, Jude.” He jabs a needle into her throat, pulling a thin black thread through. “She’s innocent. You should’ve let her go.”
“Just fix her, Caleb.”
He stitches her up, then shoves items back into the kit. “She’s lost a lot of blood. We need to call a doctor.” His nostrils flare as he pushes to her feet. “She slit her own throat, Jude. I saw her do it right when I stepped in the room.”
My jaw sets.That’s a damn jagged pill to swallow.
I’ve seen plenty of people at death’s front door, and they beg for their life. They plead, they bargain, because people always have something to live for. But she saw death as a better option.
The ever-increasing speed of my heart makes my chest constrict. “Call Marney and tell him to find Bob.”
We may have grown up surrounded by violence, with little to no regard for life, but what we did grow up with was a mother and sister who were the only forgiving light that shined through the hell around us. Innocent. Just like Tor. I know if I see that, so does he.
“This is fucked up.” He shakes his head before pulling his phone from his pocket and heading out of the room.
Nietzsche said, “To live is to suffer”, and I’ve always believed that, even more so now. Some people suffer due to their decisions, others suffer due to circumstance. And Tor has unfortunately suffered due to my circumstances. Light that’s been tainted by far-reaching darkness.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, scooping her naked and battered body into my arms to carry her to my room.. “I’m so fucking sorry, Tor.”
_____
I spent thirty minutes going through my contacts, past the names of politicians and lawyers, cops and clergy, finally finding a doctor and calling in a favor—not that I gave him an option of whether to come here or not.
And man does the fucker look on edge when he steps into my bedroom.
Tor eyes him with suspicion from the bed, scooting back until she’s pressed against the headboard. I wish she’d lay the fuck back down and be still before she pulls those stitches.
The man casts me an uneasy glance before he sets his medical bag on the nightstand and pulls out a blood pressure cuff.
He gives her painkillers, then goes about checking over the stitches, listening to her heartbeat, then turns to me. “Her blood pressure’s fine. The wounds will need to be tended to in order to keep infection out. I’ll write out a prescription for antibiotics.”