Page 9 of Worth

I snort a laugh at the thought and shove myself to my feet.

“Jack!”

I freeze as Lauren shoves the door open, her impatience having got the best of her. She doesn’t see me standing there at first, but I don’t know how she missed me. I look like a killer doll with my frilly gingham dress spattered in blood.

When she does see me, her eyes bug out of her head so badly that I swear they’re about ready to pop from her skull.

I pounce on her as she screams for Damien, slamming my fist into her face while I hold her up by her hair. “I’ve dreamt about this,” I snarl in her face. “I’ve dreamt about getting to watch the light fade from your eyes.”

Lauren is hysterical and sobbing now. Snot slides from her nose, making her lips and chin glisten. I can’t wait to wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze until her lips turn blue.

“Lauren?” Damien’s voice calls, and he sounds pissed.

Not as pissed as he’s going to be when he sees I ruined my dress.

“Daddy! In here!” Lauren screams before I can silence her with another punch to her face.

I hear Damien calling for her again, some confusion in his voice, and it’s clear he heard her yelling. I have a choice to make. A Skin murdering someone is a death sentence. I can either finish what I started with Lauren and die knowing that at least I got to take out two assholes with me, or I can run. I can run fast and far so that I can take a hell of a lot more fuckers out before I leave this world.

Then again, I know it’s not really a choice. I know I can’t die before I have the chance to kill the one man who put me in this position to begin with.

I slam Lauren’s head into the wall as hard as I can. She lands on the floor in a heap, but her groans let me know I didn’t kill the bitch. I race to the back door of the guest house and fly through it—and then I fucking run.

Chapter 3

I bolt for the perimeter of the vast property, arms pumping, the stupid ruffled skirt bouncing with every step. Lauren is hollering behind me again and, based on the way she’s still calling for her Daddy, I’m guessing that she is the only one who knows I’ve made a break for it.

I dart into the foliage that lines the perimeter, hiding the wrought-iron fence that cages the property. Launching myself at the fence, straining to pull myself up using the bars, I make a panicked noise as I slide back down. I try again and fail.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper, listening intently. Lauren has stopped her shouting. That can only mean that Damien found her and is taking in the scene of Jack’s body while she sobs about how I attacked her. I don’t have a second to waste on figuring out how to get on the other side of this damn fence.

I stay between the fence and the shrubbery, moving away from the front of the property—where the house is—as quickly as I can without rustling anything and drawing attention to myself. I know there have to be gates placed along the fence. It’s just a matter of finding one before someone findsme.

There’s only a few more moments of silence, and then Damien lets out a bellow of outrage. It freezes me in my tracks, sends fear pulsing through my veins. I force my feet to move, knowing that it’s only a matter of minutes before he releases the dogs to hunt for me the way I know he’s done when other Skins have run.

Lo-and-behold, there, as I round the corner to follow along the fence, is a gate. I don’t question the fact that it’s standing wide open. It’s an answered prayer or blessing in disguise or some shit. I cross through, no amount of reprieve flooding through me. Successfully escaping the property is one thing—successfully escaping Damien is another.

I don’t make it two steps out the gate when an arm wraps around my waist, pulling a small shriek from me I don’t manage to contain. My feet kick as they dangle, the arm holding me securely above the ground.

“Calm down there, Kitten.”

I freeze at the foreign voice, but there’s relief in knowing that it isn’t Damien, at least. I whip my head around, sucking in a lungful of cigarette smoke that makes my throat tighten, drawing a cough from me. The hazel eyes that meet mine are glinting with a hint of insanity, framed with thick eyebrows that should seem untamed, but work on the face they are attached to. A face that is decorated with scruff along his lower face and a single tattoo inked over his right cheekbone—XII. His sandy brown hair is on the longer side and seems to be styled to stand up on his head, which just makes him look like he’s been electrocuted and adds to the crazy look in his eyes. More tattoos peek up from the collar of his t-shirt and decorate his arms where the short sleeves end.

“The fuck does that nasty bastard have you wearing?” he mutters, dropping his eyes to look at the dress in question as he tosses his lit cigarette at the ground, smashing it into the dirt with his foot. I stare at him when he doesn’t so much as mention the blood, his own clothes speckled with red after catching me. He only sets me on my feet, eyes scanning me from head to toe.

He draws a pistol from behind his back. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” I blurt out, glancing at the gate nervously.

He doesn’t get the chance to answer, the sound of baying hounds interrupting any chance he may have actually done so. Before the dogs have quit sounding, he snatches up my arm with brutal force, dragging me forward.

“Move,” he snarls.

The order does one thing for me. It pisses me off. Just like every night when Damien comes in to take what isn’t being offered, this random guy has decided I’m coming with him.

Well, this random guy? He can fuck off.

I jerk my elbow free of his grip, the surprise on his face evident that he wasn’t expecting me to fight him. I launch my fist into his nose, hearing it crack loudly and turn to bolt once more—away from Damien and away from whoever the hell this is.

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