Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I looked up, wondering if the universe was listening and could help a jilted girl out.
The headlights turned off, and it wasn’t long before I heard keys outside the window. I strained to hear him enter the house, but couldn’t. The guy was as silent as a cat. That was annoying.
The bedroom door opened, but no lights were turned on. My eyes had adjusted a while ago so I could see him come straight for me, moving lithely, so quiet, like a ghost. He stopped in front of me.
I glared at him, so wishing for the power for murder by vision.
Alas, it wasn’t working.
I couldn’t make out his face, so I couldn’t get a read on what he was thinking, but I was hurting, and before I knew it, a whimper left me.
He let out a small sigh and squatted by the bed, moving a little bit into the moonlight so I could see him. Jesus. There was a burning in his gaze, and his jaw was clenched so tight. Whatever he’d been doing, he hadn’t been happy about it.
He gave me a long contemplative look, his face hard. Raking a hand over his face, he exhaled sharply. “I know you’re not going to believe me, but I didn’t have time to explain and for you to understand. I took you for your safety.”
I snorted, still glaring. “You’re such an asshole.”
He leaned back, but still in the squatting position.
I hated when people could do that. It always looked so cool and so comfortable, and I was not a person who could do that. Angie Papdailier loved doing that in high school. She’d been cheerleader captain, and the sweetest, and all the guys wanted her. So of course she could rest on the back of her heels from a squatting position. Like, way to rub it in how extra lucky you are, and the fact Jake was doing that?
Not cool.
I ramped up my glaring wattage.
His lip twitched, reaching up and resting his hands on the bed, the one I was still tied to.
“There’s a contract out on me.” He was all stonewalled to me, but his jaw clenched again, and his gaze fell to my chest, staring hard at me. I caught movement to the right and saw his hand making a quick fist before smoothing it back out and taking a firm hold of the bed. He pulled on it, standing up, and went over to a chair in the corner.
A contract? A hit? “Why do you have a contract out on you? A contract for what?”
I didn’t like that he sat down, back in the shadows. I liked having him in front of me. I liked being able to see his face, trying to get a read on him.
It gave me one sense of control, just an iota of it, and that’s all I had. I was clinging to it.
His voice went back to monotone, talking to me as if we were discussing our favorite breakfast food. Maybe that was a little exaggeration. There was a terse edge to his tone, but I grunted in frustration because I had no idea how he felt about any of this and since I was the kidnapped one, I needed to know the mindset of my kidnapper.
He was saying, “—there are things about me that you don’t know.”
“No shit, Sherlock. You’re a psychopath.” I seethed. “What kind of a person are you that’d get a contract put on them?”
He ignored that. “It’s for two million, so that means until pictures of my dead body hit the internet and my death’s been verified, they’re not going to stop coming. Two different shooters in the same day? I was worried if I left you at your cousin’s, then whoever was coming at me would take you and try to use you as bait. You’d be collateral.” He paused, briefly, his voice grating. “I was right. A picture was taken of us when we were leaving the station and an hour ago, another one was uploaded to the contract file. It showed us leaving the diner.”
I . . . What?
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Who the fuck are you? I don’t—none of this makes sense.”
His stark expression was telling me that there had been two shooters. He wasn’t lying about that, no matter how much I didn’t want to believe him.
My heart sank. There was a contract out on me? “Where?”
His chair scraped against the floor as he got up, walking over to me, walking all slow and ominous until he sat on the bed by me. As he did, his face moved into the moonlight, and I could see him again. A part of me sagged in relief. Another part of me froze up because there was nothing on his face. No facial expression. No regret. Nothing.