Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Emmalyn doesn't issue pleasantries or words of encouragement as the elevator slowly makes its way to ground level, and even though she and the men step off of it after me, they don't follow me out the front of the building.
I look to the left, seeing nothing but the ambulance bay before looking to the right.
He's there, sitting on the single bench outside the hospital, head in his hands, hung low between his shoulders.
He no longer looks like the rageful man who beat my ex-husband on my behalf. His hands are bandaged, the white gauze a stark contrast to his dark hair.
"Nyx," I whisper.
His head snaps up, eyes locking on me as he stands.
He's quick to approach me, but he maintains some distance, and it makes me wonder what has changed between our time together in the parking garage and now.
His eyes scan over me, but there's a difference in the evaluation than there was before.
I feel smaller, as if I'm somehow weaker in his eyes, and I don't know what to do with the emotion.
"Can you take me home?" I whisper.
Chapter 53
Nyx
Failure.
It hasn't hit me very hard in recent years. I've always walked away feeling as if what I did to solve a problem was right. Others may not have looked at the destruction I left in my wake, but inside, I knew it was the right choice.
Leaving Graham Whitmore alive tonight hasn't sat right with me since I pulled my fists back and stepped away.
I did it because she asked. Her words were the only thing I could hear, despite other Cerberus members being there.
Juliet's voice rang out like a shotgun blast in an empty canyon.
"I won't let him take you from me, too."
Her concern wasn't about her ex-husband.
It was for me.
I can't think of the last time someone focused on what was best for me without having their own needs swirled into the mix.
She was putting me first, knowing that if I beat that man to death, I'd go to jail. She didn't want that life for me.
I stopped for her, but now I have to keep worrying about Graham and what other damage he can do. I know it's going to eat me alive.
"Nyx."
My name on her lips has to be the equivalent of angels singing in the heavens.
My heart races at the sight of her, and the sting of pain in my knuckles fades. The only thing in life that exists is her standing a few feet away from me.
I scan every inch of her, my rage threatening to bubble over when I see the bandage on her neck where that fucker held his knife to her throat. Once again, it makes me regret stopping before I finished the fucking job.
"Can you take me home?" she whispers, her eyes dropping to her hands as if she can't seem to look at the monster in front of her.
I stand, unsure of what her lack of reaction means. She doesn't jolt or take a step back, but that could be more about nervous system overload than anything else. I can't let the idea that maybe she isn't afraid of me, despite what she witnessed I'm capable of, take over. Juliet isn't the type of woman who can love a monster, even if she isn't afraid of what I might do to her.
"Yes," I tell her.
"My car," she says.
"They'll take care of it," I assure her. "Do you want to go back to your apartment or the clubhouse?"
I don't know if she's ready to be alone, but she might want a little distance from everything now that Whitmore is in custody.
"The clubhouse," she answers, her eyes searching mine as if she's concerned about my thoughts on it.
"Okay," I tell her as I take a step closer. "We can take one of the SUVs in the parking garage, or we can ride my motorcycle."
Her eyes drift to the bandages on my hands before she looks back up at my face.
"Let's take one of the SUVs. Your hands look painful. Can't imagine what it would feel like gripping the handlebars."
I nod, because explaining that I'd feel every pain imaginable to do something she wants doesn't seem like it has a place in this moment.
I step up beside her, moving my hand forward to indicate that we can take the sidewalk to the parking garage rather than walking back through the hospital.
I have a million things to say to her, a million questions to ask, but each time I formulate my words in my head, they don't seem right, as if it would sound more like an interrogation or a one-sided argument about her choices.
I've never wanted to control this woman, but her decisions put her in a situation that could've ended very badly for her.
One woman is dead, and she could've very easily been Whitmore's second victim.