Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 143728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
* * *
The whistle sounded as he got out of the water at the other end of the pool. He didn’t turn to see what had the lifeguards running and the onlookers scrambling out of the pool to see.
Going to a longue chair, he picked up his towel to dry himself off before putting on his sunglasses. Shoving the towel into the black pool bag, he ignored the women who were lying on their chairs, watching him.
“Looks like someone’s in trouble,” a perk brunette spoke up, trying to get his attention, her eyes tracing over each line of his body.
He turned to look over his shoulder before training the lenses of his sunglasses back on the woman. “Yes, it does. It looks like the lifeguards have it under control. Afternoon, ladies.”
Going through the turnstile, he saw an ambulance crew arrive. The lifesaving measures would be a wasted effort. He had kept Raff under water long enough. Raff hadn’t stood a chance of beating his record.
* * *
Ink came out of the movie theater, taking out his phone. The text sent him rushing toward his cheap hotel room. He just had to make it one more day, and then his ex-wife would be there to take him to her sister’s house where he could hide out for a while.
His hideouts were getting fewer and farther between. He had overstayed his welcome numerous times, and his buddies had quit answering his calls. Hell, they were running from the same person he was. In their dog-eat-dog world, only one was going to survive Reaper, and Ink was determined he was going to be that lucky one. He had applied for a job at an oil rig, and if it came through, he would be saved for six months.
Opening the door, Ink went in, then locked it behind him.
Turning the television and the lights on, he paced around the room, intermittently looking out the window. Nervous, he pulled a large chair in front of the door. Then, taking out his gun from behind his back, he lay on the bed with his back to the wall, waiting for Reaper to bust through the door. The hotel was in such a sketchy area that it would take the cops an hour to get there, if they even showed without a body lying in the street.
Turning the television channel when he felt himself nodding off, Ink found an old action movie to watch. He scooted off the bed, went to the window to look out again, and not seeing anything, walked to the bathroom to take a piss. Shoving his dick back inside, he zipped his jeans back up.
As he was going through the doorway, an arm reached out, encircling his neck, pulling him back against a hard chest.
“Didn’t your mother teach you to flush the toilet and wash your hands when you go to the bathroom?”
Terrified, Ink didn’t try to fight back, hanging limply beneath the arm. “Gavin, Slate made me ….”
The man behind him gave a sardonic laugh. “You and Crash must have gotten together to get your stories straight before I broke his neck.”
“Please don’t hurt me …,” he begged. “I can give you Slate …,” he gasped out. “I swear.”
“I wouldn’t swear if I were you. You don’t want to piss God off right before He sends you to Hell.”
“Please …,” he continued to beg, clawing his nails into the arm around his neck, his feet wildly kicking out against the death grip around him.
Tasting the salty taste of blood in his mouth from biting his tongue, Ink was grateful that Reaper was making it quick … and painless.
* * *
Ink woke up to water thrown on his face. Disoriented, he stared around at what looked to be a white wall. He tried to sit up to see what was around him but couldn’t. His hands and legs were handcuffed to metal bars that ran the length of his body; the cuffs allowed his arms and legs to slide along the bars but not enough to raise them in the air. Groaning, he blinked at the sun shining down at him. Nearly shitting himself he was so scared, he turned his head and saw he was in some kind of heavy box. He lifted his eyes to see dirt all around, then started screaming when he realized the box was cement and he was in a deep hole.
Terrified, he struggled to escape, his head jerking back and forth. “Help! Help!” he shouted at the top of his lungs hoping someone would hear him.
Sobs of relief shook his chest when a shadow casted over from above.
He screamed at the silhouette of a man, “Help me out!”
“Why would I do that? I put you there.”
When the shadowy outline took a step closer to the edge of the hole, Ink got a clearer look at the man. “Reaper … please. I have kids.”