Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Wait, if I’m in hell, he shouldn’t be here, too.
I mean, not so soon, at least.
Then, little by little, my surroundings come into focus. I’m in what seems like a luxurious-looking hospital room decorated with a sofa and two chairs opposite it.
My father watches closely from beside me as an army of doctors and nurses fuss over me, running tests and making me drink water.
I go with it, not fighting, not grumbling, not being a dramatic, little bitch.
Because I’m slowly coming to a realization.
If it hurts this much and Dad is acting so serious, then it means I didn’t die, right?
I made a stupid decision in one impulsive moment, but I’m still here.
I’m alive.
My heart roars, beating so loudly.
For someone who’s wished for death my entire life, I’ve never loved feeling so alive this fucking much.
The doctor tells Dad something about remarkable improvement and tissue repairs and says he’ll prescribe a few things, but I’m barely listening.
Hey, fancy doctor, I want out of here. I want to…what?
Go to Marcus, and be like, “Sike, bet you thought you’d never see me again.”
I need a better plan.
Wait.
I remember the godforsaken letter that I hope to fuck Hayes defied orders for once and didn’t send, and I kind of slump back into the bed.
Dad sits on the edge, and I push back against the headboard. Whoa. That’s the closest he’s been to me in ages.
“Am I dead after all?” I croak, my voice husky and slightly raw. “Is this my punishment? Being strapped to a hospital bed even in the afterlife?”
Dad lets out a long sigh that says without words, Here goes the Preston shenanigans again.
He looks like his usual self in a camel three-piece suit, but there are bags under his eyes, as if he hasn’t slept a wink in ages.
“Be serious, Preston,” he says finally.
“I am serious. This could pass the vibe check for my torture chamber—don’t need hellfire for that. Quick question, how much do they pay you down here to have those baggy eyes? What’s the currency of hell?”
His lips twitch in a small smile, and I gulp.
This is creeping me out now.
“It’s good to have you back, son.” He plants his palm on the back of my hand. “How are you feeling?”
I can’t really focus on his question, because Dad is kind of holding my hand, which is totally like how he hugged me that day in my brain, and I’m starting to freak out.
Panic attack in three, two…
“Did someone die?” I whisper, my lips trembling.
Did they get Violet after all? What if it’s Marcus—
No. No. Fuck no.
“Many people died, but they deserved it,” Dad says. “The gunmen and your grandmother.”
“Granny?”
“Yes. She ordered a hit on Violet. You were right in your overly dramatic personal will—Violet is family. My half-sister, to be precise.”
“Ha. I knew it! And it’s not overly dramatic, just the right type of dramatic. You’re just salty because I called you a robot. Also, hold on, did you say Grandma wanted her dead? What a plot twist! You didn’t defend her?”
“I wouldn’t defend someone who shot my son.”
I swallow thickly, feeling awkward at the sound of his firm, nonnegotiable tone. “I mean, she’s your mom.”
“That doesn’t give her carte blanche to hurt you.”
“So you killed her?”
“Didn’t have to.” He raises a brow. “You have so many people going on revenge sprees for you.”
“My bros, Jude and Kane!” I laugh, then stop abruptly when my chest explodes with pain. “I knew they’d have my back. Did they make it as painful as possible?”
“Yes.”
“Get it!” I cough and wheeze, and Dad helps me drink from a glass of water as he pats my shoulder.
Someone call the imposter police, because he’s never been this…well, affectionate. But maybe, like, call it after a while.
“You need to take it easy, Preston. You’ve been out for two weeks, and your body needs more time to recover.”
“Wait, hold up. Two weeks?”
“Two and a half if we count the days you’ve been awake but not fully conscious.”
“Oh.” I stare over Dad’s shoulder. “Where are Jude and Kane? Shouldn’t they be at my bedside? Violet, too. Even Dorita had better be here. Pretty sure I saved her ass, too, and she should be grateful for life.”
“No one but me is here.”
“Is there a game today?”
“No. Everyone just thinks you died.”
“What?”
Dad goes on a monologue about how he told the surgeon who took me into the operating room to announce that I’d died. Only Julian, Dad, and possibly Uncle Atlas know the truth.
The reason was that my life was truly in danger, and I had to be put under using Julian’s experimental coma-inducing drug. It worked, and I’m back to the world of the living.
But at what cost?
“You could’ve at least told Jude, Kane, and Miley.” And Marcus.
Fuck. Marcus thinks I died?
Dad said there was a funeral. I had a fucking funeral.