Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
The first thing I discovered when I reached the other side was that Mr. McDead’s blood was still warm—something I figured out by accidentally putting my hand in it. I could smell it, too. Metallic, with a hint of sweetness. I started to wipe it on my shirt, and then stopped, because ewww. Wondering faintly if God would strike me for defiling the dead, I leaned down and carefully wiped my hand on his shirt.
My fingers brushed a hard lump.
I froze. There was something solid under his shirt, something that had fallen down toward his left side. Giving another quick glance down the row, I didn’t see anyone, so I tugged up his shirt to look.
It was a gun.
The whimper came again, and I looked around for the source. Along the wall stretched a series of doors. They were all shut, like they were offices that’d been locked up for the night … Except for one clearly marked as a bathroom—that door had been propped open. Was she in there, hiding?
I decided to check my new gun before going in, because I didn’t want to get caught out without any bullets this time. Oh-so-carefully, I let the little bullet holder-thingy slide out of the bottom. Yup. Full of bullets, all right. Then I pushed it back up and wrapped the bottom of my shirt around the whole thing, muffling the sound as I carefully cocked the weapon.
Now I was locked and loaded, ready to go rescue my little cousin like Lara Croft herself. All I needed was Angelina Jolie’s body and I’d be set. Make that Angelina Jolie’s money—then I could outsource the rescuing and screw Brad Pitt. I felt an inappropriate little laugh try to bubble its way out of my throat, which I swallowed down brutally. Too much tension rattling around in my head.
Stop making jokes and go rescue Jessica.
Okay, then. I took a centering breath, edging toward the bathroom door. The shattering crackle of gunfire suddenly echoed through the building, scaring the hell out of me. Men shouted in English and Spanish, followed by more shooting. I scuttled across the floor and through the bathroom door, into total darkness. Then I tugged the door shut behind me—it might not provide much in the way of a barrier, but it had to be better than hanging with a dead body right out in the open. Trailing my hand along the wall, I made my way deeper into the room, around a corner.
The gunfire died down outside.
Now I heard someone else breathing in the tiny room. Jessica? Murderous cartel thug? How the hell was I supposed to tell them apart in the darkness?
“Can you help me?” a voice whispered, and I nearly started crying because my mama instincts had been right—I’d found my girl and she was alive.
“Jess?”
Silence, then a sobbed attempt at speech. “Loni? Is that really you?”
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’m here to save you. You’ll be happy to hear I left the minivan home this time.”
More silence.
“Am I imagining this?”
“No, Jess. I’m real, but the warehouse is full of dead people and I touched one of them, so I think we should get the hell out now, okay?”
“They’ve got me handcuffed to the pipes,” she whispered. “I’m on a toilet, so I won’t make a mess.”
Jesus Christ. I suddenly wished Mr. McDead were still alive so I could kill him again—given his position outside, he’d probably been guarding her. I assumed the bikers had taken him out, but who knew? Whoever it was hadn’t found Jess, which was the only thing that mattered. Now I just needed to get her out of the cuffs, then sneak her out of the building without getting both of us killed.
Easy, right?
“Loni?”
“Still here,” I said quickly. Another round of gunfire filled the air—time to get her loose and out the door before someone came in here and started killing us.
Speak of the devil …
Footsteps thudded outside as someone ran down the long canyon between the wall and the pallets. Then the door banged open and bright white light flooded the bathroom, blinding me. Jessica screamed as shooting seemed to explode all over the building. I scuttled backward frantically, away from this new threat, more screams filling the air. Jessica’s, but also from men outside. Men in pain, or dying.
This shit was getting real.
My back hit a wall and I found myself under a sink, blinking rapidly as my eyes adjusted to the light. Not six feet from me, I saw a short, fat Hispanic man in an expensive-looking suit stop in front of the lone stall, gun in hand. His breath came heavy and he muttered to himself as he dug in his pockets for something.
Keys.
He opened the stall and I caught a glimpse of Jess for the first time—only a flash, but I saw dried blood and her jaw was swollen. She shrieked as he reached for her, and then I heard the clatter of what had to be him fighting to open the handcuffs. Jess kicked out and the key dropped, skittering across the floor to the far corner of the room.