Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 123877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 619(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Moments later, his head swam, and the room transformed into his old favorite dance club. A forceful arm circled his waist, drawing Julian’s body back against a hard chest. Cheap aftershave and the scent of unwashed male body assaulted his senses.
In this moment, caught between both the past and the present, Julian fought to catch his breath. His heart rate double-timed its frantic beat as a cold sweat broke out along his hairline. Everything slowed.
The cool fresh air around him became stagnant, the smell of mold and stale cigarettes thickened around him. A dirty flannel sleeve came into focus. Memories of a distorted, tattoo-covered face flashed in his brain. Julian recognized his abductor immediately.
Micah Abbott.
The son of his parents’ pastor.
It had been years, but there wasn’t any doubt in Julian’s mind. Micah had sneered down at him with a menacing glare that sent chills racing down his spine seconds before a powerful fist had met Julian’s jaw and he’d lost consciousness.
Holy hell.
His abductor was the kid he’d got caught fucking during a church service. Micah had done those things to him?
Julian’s mind spun back to the present. His stomach churned. His head hurt so bad he worried he might pass out. He rocked back unsteadily on his feet as if that fist had traveled through time and connected with his jaw where he stood in the ballroom. The flute in his hand crashed to the floor, sending champagne and fragments of glass splattering every which way.
The reality and implications of his flashback slammed through Julian’s entire body. Bile forced its way from his stomach and hung in his throat. He was going to be sick. He wanted out of this place and away from these people.
Beckett. He needed Beckett. Julian spun around, catching Marc’s concerned gaze as he took long purposeful steps toward Julian. Every head in the room had turned at the crash of his glass. Now they tracked Marc on his way to Julian’s side. Julian must have made a scene but couldn’t care in the least as he ripped the mask off his face, tossed it away as he started toward the protection of his private security guard.
Julian opened his mouth to speak, but his breath caught in his throat, no words would come. The edges of his vision darkened. He refused to pass out, but he couldn’t draw air into his lungs. Fuck. Julian reached for Marc’s forearm to help steady himself, his fingers digging into the man’s skin to keep him from dropping to the floor. His thoughts still whirled and his mind reeled from the shock of remembering…everything. His heart raced in his chest as he fought to remain standing.
“What happened?” Marc hissed. Julian gave a frantic shake of his head, starting to move them out of the room. At this rate, passing out was imminent, and he refused to do it in front of some many prying eyes. “Breathe, Julian. I got you.”
He stared at Marc’s dark eyes, not near as warm and inviting as Beckett’s, but he still trusted Marc with his life.
“Beckett,” Julian said through a constricted throat, taking long strides to the elevator banks. Shooting stars sprinted through his vision, increasing in size and speed. “I need to speak to Beckett.”
Marc’s protective arm came to Julian’s back, keeping him upright as the bodyguard ushered Julian to the elevator. “Let’s get you back to the room.”
The elevator doors opened, and he hurried inside, thankful he’d managed to stay on his feet. He finally took a centering breath, anchoring him into his reality. “Find Beckett for me. Tell him I’m sorry and see if he can come.”
Julian’s hands shook as his world then turned desperate.
“Julian, are you all right?” Someone asked from outside the elevator as the doors closed.
No, he wasn’t. Not at all.
Julian forced himself to pull it together, at least long enough to get to the suite. His mind spun as if it was on a continuous loop. Flashes of that tattooed face. The hate he’d felt when he’d looked into those eyes. It was Micah. Micah had abducted and assaulted him.
So many questions spun through his head. Why would Micah abduct him? Why would he want to hurt him? Why did he leave him for dead?
Chapter 37
Traffic was a bitch.
Beckett pushed back in his seat, trying to find some comfort as he draped his wrist over the steering wheel of his truck and came to a dead stop on the interstate. Again. The third traffic jam he’d encountered since leaving Coronado. He’d hit a congested spot in San Diego then again when he made it to the LA area. He thought he’d been home free. But Santa Clarita at close to midnight proved him wrong. A long yawn escaped as he reached for his cell phone, searching for the closest hotel with a vacancy.