Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
And Robert Hawk, in killing Tanaka, had shown her how to truly rip someone’s heart out. You could only hurt someone so much with pain. You could kill them slowly, kill every bit of humanity and happiness in their soul, when you took away the ones they love. When you killed the ones they loved. It was a lesson she had never forgotten, and one she would use on Bell and Dario.
The four-wheeler climbed up the berm easily, moving in between the thick trees, branching occasionally slapping against her chest. Before them, the sounds of the highway increased. She heard a shout, and didn’t look back, increasing her speed, the excitement burning through her chest.
Mounting the berm, the ATV wove through the tree line and reached the highway. She released the throttle and it rolled to a stop next to her SUV. Reaching into her pocket, she pressed the button on the fob and popped open the rear hatch. She crouched beside the back rack and carefully maneuvered Bell Hartley’s limp body over her shoulder. Using her legs, she straightened, carrying her, fireman-style, to the back of the SUV and unloading her into the back of it. Closing the trunk, she abandoned the ATV and stepped into the vehicle.
Thirty seconds later, they were on the road and heading to the warehouse.
DARIO
She was his world. If something happened, if she was harmed … his chest constricted at the possibilities. He jabbed at the screen of his phone, calling 9-1-1 and staring up at the berm, the tracks from the ATV fresh on the grass. Fuck these rich prick rentals with their house full of toys. And fuck him for driving the Lambo. That car would go ten feet across grass and get stuck. He listened to the phone ring and jerked at the minivan handle, the car locked, a useless option anyway.
The emergency operator answered, and he barked out the situation.
His mind warred between storming up the berm, chasing the ATV tracks, and breaking down the front door to see if Bell was inside. She might be there, hurt, scared, needing him.
The other possibility made his eyes close, his face muscles tensing as he fought for control. She could be in there, dead. Whoever this bitch was, whatever had just happened, he had to fix this. He had to fix everything and he couldn’t even fucking decide which path to take. The berm or the house. He looked back and forth and spat out directions to the operator, ordering a roadblock on the highway, something that would probably happen ten minutes too late. If she had a vehicle there, hidden in the trees, just off the interstate… she could be inside it by now. She could be driving away and laughing, with Bell’s blood on her hands.
The image had him striding to the front door, the handle locked, his foot lifting and stomping at the jam. It took three kicks and the wood splintered. Another two and he was inside, his breath coming in spurts, his fear almost crushing in its intensity.
Dread hit when he heard the silence in the home. No screams of pain, no calls for help. If she was here... If she wasn’t here, he was wasting time and risking her life. He forced his feet to move, his voice to work, his call of her name wobbly and weak. He pushed through the arched doorway and ran down the hall and into the master bedroom.
He stopped short, the room pristine, his gaze scanning over everything in an instance. He moved to the bathroom, pushing open the door, almost paralyzed with the thought of what might lay behind it.
She was his everything. His heart. His soul. His future. His life.
He stepped inside and saw her sandal, lying on its side, alone on a stretch of empty white tile. No. No. No. Not again.
Twenty-Three
BELL
My head was dying. I had a million needles jabbing into my temples, and my eyes wouldn’t open. I was trying, working every tiny muscle behind those lids, and nothing happened. I attempted to roll over, to bring my tongue back inside my mouth, but I couldn’t do that either.
I’m paralyzed. The thought was blindingly apparent, and panic flared. Only, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything to react, and that was even more maddening.
But I could feel. I could feel how dry my throat was, my tongue heavy. I could feel a glob of saliva, saliva I desperately needed, running along my open lips and dripping to the floor. I could feel the painful bite of the metal cuffs, cuffs that were stretching my arms out, my shoulders aching from the strain. I checked in with my lower half and found my legs splayed out, my butt on the floor.
I don’t think paralyzed people can feel pain. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Maybe I wasn’t paralyzed. But, then again, paralysis would cause me to be immune to whatever hell was before me. Instead, I might feel it all. And I had an inkling this blonde bitch had all sorts of crazy shit planned for me.