Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96206 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
It took some effort, but she found her way to one of the light boxes the Oracle team had brought in and fumbled under the weak beam of moonlight. Suddenly, her fingers encountered the switch and she flipped it on. Light flooded the room, startling Montilla and his goons.
Emboldened, she ran to another light and flipped it on, too, this one blinding Montilla and Federico with a bright beam directly in their eyes.
Both cursed. She looked around and saw a few corpses strewn on the ground. Thankfully none belonged to anyone from EM or Oracle.
Crouching and ducking, she made her way across the room, dodging bullets until she was a handful of feet from the stairs that led to the basement.
Then cruel fingers in her hair yanked her up by the tender strands.
“Where are you going, little sister?” Montilla rasped in her ear as he wrested the gun from her waistband and tossed it to the floor.
Her heartbeat surged with fear. “What do you want?”
“My son. Where is he?”
“I-I do not know,” she lied.
“You waste my time. Tell me now or I will blow your brains out.” He lifted the gun to her temple.
She tried to hold in her scream, but it escaped as a whimper. Terror shook her from head to toe. She had no illusions that Montilla would end her. She meant nothing to him. Nor did taking a life.
If this was how she died, trying to protect those she loved, then she would gladly perish, but she would leave behind one gaping regret—that she had broken her promise to Trees yet still hadn’t saved him. She could only hope that EM Security prevailed and that they would rescue the man she loved so he could have a long, hopefully happy life.
“I will not tell you.” She raised her chin in defiance.
“Shame. You will look far less pretty with your brains splattered across the floor.”
He cocked the gun. The sound reverberated in her ear. Her breathing turned ragged, and she closed her eyes, praying for a miracle. But she would not beg this monster for her life.
Suddenly, she heard a splat, felt a gush of hot liquid spray across her face. Her breath caught. Had she been hit? Was she bleeding? Why didn’t she feel pain?
Montilla’s grip on her hair loosened, then his body began to fall away. Laila turned—and saw his wide, lifeless eyes, along with a small bullet hole in between. The back of his head had been blown open and his brains littered the floor.
She screamed.
“Get her!” she heard someone roar in a heavily accented voice.
Laila took off running, ducking long enough to grab the gun Montilla had tossed, and made her way toward the basement stairs.
One of Montilla’s thugs charged after her. She heard his pounding footsteps above her harsh breathing and turned to find him barreling down on her. She looked around for help and saw some wounded among the EM Security operatives. Others she didn’t see at all, like Hunter. She prayed they were still alive.
Logan charged across the giant, empty room to help her, but he would reach her too late. Her pursuer was already taking shots at her. One bullet whizzed past her ear.
To her right, she ducked down an unexplored hallway. It was still and shadowy. Maybe too dark for Montilla’s murderous underling to see her? Perhaps, but the encroaching blackness terrified her.
As she darted down the corridor, it closed in, threatening to suffocate her. She started to panic. Her breaths got louder, and she still heard his pursuing footfalls. Her thoughts tumbled and whirled. How could she sneak past her assailant to reach the basement stairs?
As possibilities rolled through her head, Laila tripped and stumbled. Her shoulder crashed into a door that gave way and slammed against the opposite wall. Moonlight shined through the lone rectangular window here, enough for her to see she’d cornered herself in a closet.
The door swung shut again. Panic clawed at her as she looked for an escape. The shelves lining the walls were empty. Maybe she could climb them, break the glass, and shimmy through the small window above. But then she would be forced to run around the hospital perimeter, find a door to enter, and locate the stairs to the basement—precious minutes in which EM Security might be overrun by Montilla’s thugs and Trees might die. But if she ran back out of the closet, her assailant would catch her.
The window it was.
Laila tested the sturdiness of the shelves, then started climbing—only to be stopped by a sign to the right in big red letters. A small, square opening sat beneath.
The laundry chute. It should take her down a level, into the basement, right? But would she fall to her death?
Behind her, the door crashed against the wall again. Knowing she had no time to waste, Laila yanked the narrow panel open and crawled into the chute. It was a tight squeeze. Darkness overtook her again. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore her fear.