Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“What are you doing here?” I ask, standing close enough that I can feel the heat from her body radiating off her. “Let me guess. Nothing better to do than hang around the hospital all the time? Is this your idea of a fun afternoon?”
“Considering you’re also here…” she whispers, staring straight ahead like that will do anything to help her. “Maybe you shouldn’t be the one to talk.” She then blows out an exasperated sigh when it’s obvious we’re not going to let it go. “I was visiting my granddad. Satisfied?”
“Not even fucking close.” Without thinking, I reach out and hit the red button on the panel, bringing us to a stop between the third and second floors.
“What are you doing? Jesus Christ,” she mutters, touching her head to the wall before sighing again. Like she’s the one whose life has been completely fucked up. Like she’s the one dealing with shit and piss and puke, all because some people don’t know how to mind their own business.
“Keep playing like you have any control right now. It’s actually pretty funny.” She’s going to squirm. I know she will. Everybody has a breaking point, don’t they? We’re close to hers, I can feel it. The way her nostrils flare, faster and faster with every breath she takes. The way she keeps closing in on herself—arms wrapped tighter, shoulders higher, pressed against the wall like she wants to melt into it.
What a shame for her she can’t.
How good for us. Finally, something about this day is looking up.
“I want to get out of here.” She tries to launch forward like she’s going to reach for the button panel, but I outstretch an arm to stop her.
“You think it’s that easy?” I ask with a laugh when she rebounds off me. “Please. No, don’t be rude. We wanna have a conversation.”
“I am not interested in having a conversation with either of you. And…” Her tongue darts over her lips like she’s nervous, which she should be. “I’ve had a really long day.”
“A long day? Oh, you poor thing.” She is not going to get sympathy out of me.
Preston’s laugh is bitter. “We just got finished volunteering to make up for what you did.”
She opens her mouth, but before she can hand me any bullshit about everything being our fault and not hers, I lean a little closer, satisfied when she shudders. “You know, nobody would hear you if you screamed. Nobody knows we are in here with you. We could do anything we wanted to you, and there’s nothing you could do to stop us.” A glance toward my twin tells me he’s fully on board—eyes twinkling, his mouth twisting in a smirk. Oh yeah, we’re on the same page.
“I guess neither of you geniuses noticed the camera mounted in the corner, under the ceiling. Say hi,” she murmurs with a snarky grin.
A grin that slides away when our eyes meet, and I haven’t flinched.
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” I counter with my own smirk. “Do you think anybody could get here in time, if they’re even watching the video feed right now? It would be too late to do anything to help you.”
“You really are sick, aren’t you?” She looks at my brother, then back at me. “Both of you. I’m gonna ask you one more time to get this elevator moving again, or else.”
That might be the funniest thing I’ve heard in years. “Or else?” I hoot, shaking my head as I close in on her, pressed against her, one arm on either side of her body so there’s nowhere for her to go. “Or else what?”
She doesn’t tell me. She shows me.
She doesn’t knee me hard, but then, she doesn’t need to. Every guy knows a ball tap can be just as painful as a full punch if it’s delivered in the right spot.
And Emma’s knee definitely hits that spot.
All the air rushes out of my lungs as I stumble backward. This time, I’m the one who’s going to puke all over the place. “Bitch!” I manage to gasp as I slide halfway down the wall at my back.
“Now start the fucking elevator,” she hisses at Preston, who jams his finger against it to get us moving again.
Wincing, I do everything possible not to writhe in agony.
This bitch. She is determined to keep upping the ante. Because at first, she was an inconvenience. A nosy little nothing who needed to be smacked down and reminded of her place.
Now? I want to hurt her. I crave the sight of pain leaking into her eyes and filling them with tears.
As soon as the doors slide open, she’s gone—turning sideways to fit between them before darting for the revolving door at the other end of the cavernous lobby. Meanwhile, I can barely handle the thought of moving, my balls throbbing with every heavy beat of my heart.