Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“You can’t tell!” he says on a rush, sitting forward in his chair beseechingly, still only concerned for his fucking public status. “I’m not just worried about my business and reputation. I don’t want my daughter to hate me!”
I scoff, truly amused by the deluded prick. “It’s too fucking late, Logan.” I shove my gun to his temple again and put some more weight behind it, forcing him to collapse back into his chair. His brow is a sweaty mess, his hands up in front of him like his pathetic, fat limbs can serve as some kind of protection. Nothing could protect him from me right now.
“You have a wife,” he mumbles pathetically.
“She’s fucking dead!”
“You still lied to my daughter! You still pretended to be someone you’re not!”
“Don’t make me fucking kill you before I have all the information I need to find her!” I lean in, sure I’m going to pierce his head with my gun to save me the bother of shooting him. “Your concern over me and your daughter is irrelevant right now.”
He closes one eye, trying to lean back and escape my gun. It’s a fruitless endeavor. “Please help me find her,” he begs.
I relieve his temple of my Heckler and stalk around his desk, putting myself on the other side of him. He follows my every pace until I come to a stop. I aim, watch his eyes widen and his hands come up, and I fire.
The sound of shattering glass ricochets around his office, and he curls into a ball in his chair, making himself as small as possible. “I’m already planning on breaking your legs for putting her through this. But I swear, Logan.” I load my lungs with air and let it stream out on my lethal vow. “If she has one scratch on her when I get her back from whoever’s taken her, I won’t aim past you next time.”
He uncurls himself from the chair, shaking and sweating, his terrified eyes glassy.
“Nod!” I yell. “Give me something that tells me you fully comprehend what I’m telling you!”
He starts nodding frenziedly, sniffling like the spineless arsehole he is.
I search for the calm I need to function to my fullest and sit in the chair opposite him, laying my gun calmly on the table, while Logan hangs on nervously for me to speak.
He can wait while I talk myself down. He’s a desperate man. A stupid man, thinking he could handle this alone. The only credit I can give him is calling me in to protect Camille. Then he fucked that up and called me off.
I remind myself that kidnappers rarely take their victim with the intention of hurting them. The sole purpose is to extort money from someone.
“Who could know what you’ve been getting up to in your spare time?” I ask, watching him closely. “Who could have taken those pictures of you and the minor?”
“I don’t know!” he cries, waving frantic hands around his head. “I’ve looked into every possibility and come up with nothing! I can’t ask my IT department to look into the e-mails! I can’t show anyone!”
“Show me,” I demand curtly.
“I deleted them.”
I fly forward, my hand on my gun. “Don’t push me, Logan.”
He goes straight to his pocket and pulls out his keys before pointing to the wall across his office. “They’re in the safe.”
“Get them.”
He gets up from his chair, struggling like an old man, and walks backward, his eyes dancing between my gun and me. His hands shake as he swivels the dial, left and right, and left again, before he takes the key to the lock and struggles with it for a few moments.
His whole body folds in on itself when he reaches inside, pulling out a blue file. Fingering it with nervous fingers, he brings it to me. I snatch it and fling it open, not treating the offending papers with the same care as Logan. I’m hit with a vivid image of his naked, hairy arse and the euphoric face of a young girl. Wincing, I go to the next sheet, not needing to see the debasing evidence that has thrown my world into anarchy. I force myself to breathe deeply before I retrieve my gun and relieve my twitching trigger finger.
Logan remains standing, nervous and quiet at my side as I flick through, finding an e-mail dated two days ago with all the incriminating pictures and more pictures of Cami. “I tried looking into the bank details listed,” Logan murmurs, not needing to go on. I note the details. It’s a Swiss bank. He’ll get nowhere searching on basic search engines.
I get out my phone and type the digits into a message, but before I can click send, it rings in my hand. I answer quickly. “Luce?”
“Get online. Go to the London by Night website.”