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“Firefly,” Dalton murmurs, stepping into me, ready to feed me whatever bullshit he tells himself to try and make this all okay.
“Don’t,” I spit, flinching away from him as he tries to reach for me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
His hand falls away, and I look back at Zade. “How long do I have?”
“Twenty-eight days.”
I crumble, my knees falling into the dirty pavement as I barely catch myself. Twenty-eight days to live. Twenty-eight days to survive. Twenty-eight days to take everything Zade DeVil holds dear and burn it to the fucking ground.
Easton kneels down beside me, hesitating just a moment before placing his hand over my thigh, right where he marked my skin with his cross. “Come on, Oakley,” he murmurs, coaxing me to get back up. “We have to get you out of here. It won’t be long until they sound the alarm and come searching.”
I shake my head, refusing to stand, so he scoops me up in his strong arms instead, pulling me into his chest as I try to figure out how the hell I’m supposed to fit a whole lifetime into the space of twenty-eight days. Hell, I’ve never even fallen in love.
“I don’t want to die,” I tell him, my head nuzzled into the curve of his neck.
“I know,” he tells me. “Believe me, if there were another way, we would have done it. I’d do anything to spare your life.”
My heart shatters, every passing second only making me realize just how fucking trapped I am. There’s no way out of this. No freedom for me, no life to be lived. I’ll never escape Zade and his crew. I’ll never find peace, solitude, or happiness. I’ll never be free.
For the next twenty-eight days, I’m a caged bird waiting for execution by the hand of the man who has stolen the life I was supposed to lead.
Easton carries me out of the back alley, the boys close at his back, and as the exhaustion and mental overload begins to catch up to me, I glance back over Easton’s shoulder and meet Zade’s cruel stare. “You better hope you kill me because, if you don’t, I will come for you, and I will burn your whole fucking world to ashes.”
Zade nods, accepting what will be. “You have the blood pulsing through your veins. You’re the true heir, Oakley. You’ll never beat me. You can’t, but I’d be disappointed if you didn’t at least try.” And with that, Easton deposits me in the back of an Escalade, more than ready to take me back to my penthouse prison.
Chapter 9
OAKLEY
I don’t recall the car ride back to Zade’s hotel. One minute, Easton was putting me in the back, the next, I was opening my eyes to find Sawyer reaching for me through the open car door. Barely a minute later, the elevator opened to Zade’s penthouse, and I was forced back into the luxurious apartment.
It’s almost eerie standing here in the penthouse now. Don’t get me wrong, I hated being here before. I hated the thought of being held prisoner by these guys, but they promised me protection. They made me believe that the safest place for me was under their watchful eyes. Which I suppose to some extent is true. But now, knowing they’re only protecting me from these attacks in order to be the ones who get to slaughter me . . . I don’t fucking like it. It has me questioning every fucking step I’ve ever made.
Ignoring the boys. I make my way to my bedroom when Zade’s scoff pulls me up short. I turn on my heel and fix him with a scathing stare. “What now, your majesty?” I spit, the words like poison on my tongue. “Did I forget to kiss your feet, or shall I help you sharpen the knife you’ll use to slice through my chest?”
He narrows his stare but thankfully remains where he is across the room. “You really think I’m about to let you out of my sight after you ran from me?” he questions. “You lost the privilege of having a bedroom. You’ll sleep in my room, right beside me.”
I gape at the asshole. “Absolutely not,” I tell him. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty fork than have to sleep beside you.”
“Be my guest,” he says, waving toward the kitchen. “They’re not rusty, but they’ll do the job. I can help you if you’d like. After all, it’s not your eyes I need.”
I scowl at the prick, my hands shaking at my sides as red-hot rage crashes through my body like a tsunami. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”
“You’re just working this out now?” he questions, leaning back against the dining room table. “You’ve got two fucking choices. Either accept that you’re sleeping in my room, or don’t, and I can chain you up in my cell again. Take your pick.”
