Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
“I need you to listen to me, Sara.” The intruder’s voice is soft, belying the knife digging into my throat. “If you cooperate, you’ll walk out of here alive. If you don’t, you’ll leave in a body bag. It’s your choice.”
Alive? A spark of hope cuts through the haze of panic in my brain, and I realize he has a faint accent. It’s something exotic. Middle Eastern, maybe, or Eastern European.
Oddly, that detail centers me a little, provides something concrete for my mind to latch on to. “W-what do you want?” The words come out in a quaking whisper, but it’s a miracle I can speak at all. I feel like a deer in the headlights, stunned and overwhelmed, my thought processes bizarrely slow.
“Just a few answers,” he says, and the knife retreats slightly. Without the cold steel cutting into my skin, some of my panic subsides, and other details register, like the fact that my assailant is at least a head taller than me and packed with muscle. The arm around my ribcage is like a steel band, and there’s no give in the large body pressing against my back, no hint of softness anywhere. I’m of average height for a woman, but I’m slim and small-boned, and if he’s as muscular as I suspect, he must be almost double my weight.
Even if he didn’t have the knife, I wouldn’t be able to get away.
“What kind of answers?” My voice is a little steadier this time. Maybe he’s just here to rob me and all he needs is the combination to the safe. He smells clean, like laundry detergent and healthy male skin, so this is not some meth addict or bum off the streets. A professional burglar, maybe? If so, I’ll gladly give up my jewelry and the emergency cash George stashed in the house.
“I want you to tell me about your husband. Specifically, I need to know his location.”
“George?” My mind goes blank as a new fear bites at me. “W-what… why?”
The blade presses in. “I’m the one asking questions.”
“P-please,” I choke out. I can’t think, can’t focus on anything but the knife. Hot tears slide down my face, and I’m shaking all over. “Please, I don’t—”
“Just answer my question. Where is your husband?”
“I—” Oh God, what do I tell him? He must be one of them, the reason for all the precautions. My heart is beating so fast I’m hyperventilating. “Please, I don’t… I haven’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Sara. I need his location. Now.”
“I don’t know it, I swear. Please, we’re—” My voice cracks. “We’re separated.”
The arm around my ribcage tightens, and the knife digs in a fraction deeper. “Do you want to die?”
“No. No, I don’t. Please…” I’m shaking harder, the tears streaming down my face uncontrollably. After the accident, there were days when I thought I wanted to die, when the guilt and pain of regrets were overwhelming, but now that the blade is at my throat, I want to live. I want it so badly.
“Then tell me where he is.”
“I don’t know!” My knees are threatening to buckle, but I can’t betray George like this. I can’t expose him to this monster.
“You’re lying.” My assailant’s voice is pure ice. “I’ve read your messages. You know exactly where he is.”
“No, I—” I try to think of a plausible lie, but I can’t come up with one. Panic is acrid on my tongue as frantic questions pop into my mind. How could he have read my messages? When? How long has he been stalking me? Is he one of them? “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The knife presses in a hair deeper, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath coming in sobbing gasps. Death is so close I can taste it, smell it… feel it with every fiber of my being. It’s the metallic tang of my blood and the cold sweat running down my back, the roar of my pulse in my temples and the tension in my quivering muscles. In another second, he’ll nick my jugular, and I’ll bleed out, right here on my kitchen floor.
Is this what I deserve? Is this how I atone for my sins?
I clench my teeth to prevent them from chattering. Please forgive me, George. If this is what you need…
I hear my attacker sigh, and in the next instant, the knife is gone and I’m flipped over onto the counter. My back hits the hard granite, and my head flops backward into the sink, my neck muscles screaming from the strain. Gasping, I kick out and try to punch him, but he’s too strong and fast. In a flash, he leaps onto the counter and straddles me, pinning me in place with his weight. He secures my wrists with something hard and unbreakable before gripping them with one hand, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can’t do anything to get free. My heels slide uselessly on the sleek counter, and my neck muscles burn from holding up my head. I’m helpless, pinned down, and a new kind of panic washes over me.