Read Online Unstoppable: Truth is Unstoppable (Truth and Love Series) by Bethany Hensel - Free Book Online Page B

winks at me. “For their sake more than mine.”
    She touches my arm, her skin soft as velveteen, and she laughs at the next thing I say. We talk all night, neither one of us realizing when the party was over.

 
     
    VICTORIA
     
    My wrists hurt. The handcuffs are too tight . And my legs are sore. The metal bar in front of me that I am cuffed to makes it impossible to sit comfortably. And the soldier beside me smells like sour cream. Tears freefall from my face but I can't reach up to wipe them away. The thick strap across my chest and shoulders make it impossible to move. Sobs explode from my mouth and wrack my body like machine gun fire . I gasp for breath.
    Jace is in the front passenger's seat. He looks at me. I shut my eyes against a burst of pain in my chest. And that's when I feel it. Cool, soft, dry. It sweeps delicately across my cheeks.
    I open my eyes just in time to see Jace put his handkerchief back in his pocket.

 
     
    DEREK
     
    William's house is not as big as Mr. King's, but it's still large enough for a General Motors factory to take up residence in very nicely. Victoria's talked about it before. Apparently, there's a downstairs apartment —whatever that means—in addition to the rest of the house’s three bathrooms and six bedrooms. Why all the space for a guy and his wife, I'll never know. But unlike Mr. King's house, William obviously has more, um, modern taste in designing. If Mr. King's house was decorated circa 1800's England, then William's was something out of Spaceship Interiors. Lots of chrome, lots of steel, lots of glass.
    I hate it.
    My parents and I move toward the back of the house to the kitchen. There's already a huge throng of people milling about or huddled on couches, sharing their grief. So far, I know no one. I haven't seen the casket yet either. No idea where it could be at this point and a part of me absolutely dreads when I have to see it. Another part of me is saying suck it up, that's what you're here for. And another part of me…another part of me just wants to collapse, fall asleep, and have someone wake me when it’s over.  There’s an unreal, dream-like quality about this whole thing, and if not for the shooting pain in my head and heart, I could almost believe it was just that.  A dream.  A nightmare.
    Finally, a familiar face: William. God, the family resemblance is so strong the recoil of a shotgun blast would be less painful. The same brown eyes, the same chestnuts-roasting-over-an-open-fire hair that is somehow always styled as if he stepped out of a magazine cover for Yuppie International. The same cheekbones, the same facial planes, the same lips. Everyone, and I mean everyone , agrees that little William K. is the spitting image of his father, and isn't he so, so lucky?
    Sure, lucky. Great word. That's exactly what I would call William right now. Luckiest guy on earth.
    I mean, he may be an asshole. He may be angry and curt. But I can't help but feel sorry for him. He's burying his father today. I make my way over to him. Whispers light the way like streetlights:
    What will happen to Mr. King's company?
    Will William take over?
    Where's the daughter?
    Second one in two months. Ridiculous.
    Something needs to be done here.
    I still don't understand what happened.
    “William,” I say, extending my hand, “I'm sorry. Despite what happened yesterday....I am sorry for everything.”
    He accepts it and shakes it once. He nods. “Thank you.”
    Robin, his wife, comes up to us then. She's William's antithesis in every way and it's probably why they've managed to stay married for so long. In fact, she kind of reminds me of Victoria. Whereas William can be closed off, Robin is an open book, and she encourages others to be the same way. William doesn't laugh easily; Robin laughs all the time. William can make you feel lower than scum when he pierces you with his eyes; Robin's aqua-colored ones have a way of making you feel welcome, as if you are old