Total pages in book: 23
Estimated words: 21317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 107(@200wpm)___ 85(@250wpm)___ 71(@300wpm)
Hitchhiking isn’t the best idea, but it’s not like I have any other choice.
Then, a Jeep appears. I half-expect the driver to be a serial killer wanna-be. Instead, I see a young, innocent girl with red eyes and a puffy nose.
Her beauty hits me like a freight train.
I don’t know her story, but I intend to find out. She’s running away from someone, that much I can tell. And while my training kicks in, I resist the urge to pepper her with questions. I need her to trust me first.
It doesn’t take long before she realizes I’m not one of the bad guys and starts spilling everything.
Finding out her father and his men are after her? It takes all of my willpower not to drive around and finish them myself.
And when those degenerates manage to locate her, they think they can take her from me and I won’t do anything about it. They think I won’t put up a fight even if it’s six against one. They think I’ll willingly give her up.
The thing is, she’s already mine. And anyone who comes after her has to get through me.
No one gets through me.
These assholes think they can one-up me because they outnumber me? Please, f*ckers. Don’t threaten me with a good time.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
DAMIEN
“Yeah, well. Fuck you too, you rusty, old piece of junk!”
I raise my leg and swing it forcefully against the side of the truck, ignoring the sting in my shin.
How fucking funny would it be that I faced the most dangerous criminals only to die because I froze my ass off?
I check the time on my watch. 5:12 PM. Perfect. Just great. The sun is already dipping, casting its long shadows across the empty, blacktop road. It won’t take long before the tall trees completely block any light from the setting sun.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mentally run through my options as if I have many.
I’m in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the stretch of woods in front and behind me. No cellphone signal, the next town is possibly an hour away, and no one knows I’m supposed to be traveling.
My dark blue 1970 Ford Bronco has served me well in the past six years, but of course, it’s gonna break down today of all days. Right when I’m on my way to a new job as a homicide investigator. The new Chief of Police was my old boss, and he said he was bringing the gang back together. I didn’t even hesitate. I was his best man. Too bad I’ll probably freeze to death before my first day at work.
Trouble started when I heard a subtle rumble in the engine. I dismissed it because it was old and it was bound to make noises. And the noises sounded expensive. The rumble then turned into a cough, and before I knew it, the old boy sputtered to a halt. I popped the hood of the car and ended up inhaling a full hot steam. That was when I realized it was bad.
The temperature starts to drop, and I shift my weight, a cloud of white mist forming in the chilly air with each exhale. I pull my leather jacket tighter in a pathetic attempt at shielding myself from the biting cold. Raising my cupped hands to my mouth, I blow warm breath to my numb fingers.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I begin walking because the last thing I want is to stay still and die without trying. Warmth seeps through my bones, and it takes a few moments before my semi-frozen ears pick up a faint sound.
Stopping in the middle of the road, I turn back, straining to hear the noise again. Come on.
I let out a huge breath when the low, rhythmic rumble cuts through the other white noises. Fuck yes. I shove my hands in my pockets and listen as the engine’s roar grows closer. It’s almost dark when I finally catch the beam of headlights.
Relief washes over me in waves as the vehicle comes into view. It’s a crimson-red Jeep Wrangler, most likely bought within the past two months. That probably costs 20 times my truck. I whistle and watch at it in admiration, but that’s before I notice a dent in its fender. A huge one. Damn. What a waste.
Doesn’t matter. With a beast like that, the owner can definitely afford to have it fixed.
I extend my arm, thumb pointing upward. Never hitchhiked in my life, so I’m not sure if this is really how they do it. I’ve seen enough true crime documentaries and worked on enough cases to know this can possibly end with one body found in the ditch, but dammit. I don’t give a flying fuck if the driver’s a psycho or a serial killer. I can hold my own in a fight, and I have my gun with me. I prefer those odds against staying here when I have nothing to fight the cold.
I just need a ride.
The car is closer but the driver hasn’t slowed down. When it passes by me, I mutter a curse. Can’t really blame him. Who would want to stop and let a hitchhiker who looks like me in their car? I probably look like a serial killer myself. I mean, I am 6’5” and, because I spend most free time at the gym, built like a tank. With my five o’clock shadow and jeans caked with mud, I won’t fault the driver for thinking the worst.
Looking like I moonlight as a thug has its perks when interviewing suspects, but obviously, it also has its downsides. I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a small space with me either.
I scrub a hand across my face and start walking again. Looking ahead, I notice the Jeep stop and start backing. On instinct, my body tenses, already primed for a fight. It comes to a halt beside me, the driver lowering the window on the passenger side.
I don’t know what I expect to see, but not this.
Jesus Christ.
I squeeze my eyes shut and snap them open again. The driver isn’t some old guy. Not even my age. Not even a guy really.