Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“When failing means having a sniper put a bullet through the back of your head, you’ll find a way to get your ass over those fucking fences and into the woods.”
She scoffs. “What does it matter anyway? I might as well just let the snipers take me out. It beats going through all this bullshit only to have you slice me up into tiny little pieces after torturing me for hours on end. Maybe the snipers won’t take a kill shot and get me in the leg instead. At least that way I can sue and make bank. Not to mention the workers’ compensation claim I can make against Pulse Media would set me up for life. All I have to do is make it out of here alive, and I’m good. Your lawyer reached out to me, so I think I could take him down, too. Either way, it’s in my best interest to live through this.”
I shake my head. “Since when do you care about the money?”
“I don’t. But rolling in cash seems like a better option than rolling in a goddamn grave,” she tells me. “Besides, you know your plan sucks, right? I studied the blueprints of this prison all week, preparing for this waste-of-time interview, and there are so many better options. Ones that even include not having to wait around until the middle of the night to get going. You could have already been in those fucking woods if you just told me your stupid plan long before you had me crawling through the ceiling.”
This fucking woman. I swear, my patience is quickly wearing thin.
My hands ball into fists, and I try to calm down, having way too many hours ahead of myself stuck in this crawlspace with her. “I’ve been working on this plan for two years. I have it down to the fucking second. I know what I’m doing.”
“Then by all means, risk getting your head blown off by the snipers. Doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ll still end up with a good story to write,” she muses. “Though you realize it’s only two in the afternoon, right? What am I supposed to do about bathroom breaks? Also, getting kinda hangry. Have you got any snackeroos in those pockets of yours?”
Fuck. It’s only two in the afternoon. Waiting here until eleven is going to kill me, especially when she’s running her damn mouth about bathroom breaks and fucking snackeroos. That much time with her under my skin will no doubt break me.
“Nine fucking hours,” I muse.
“Mm-hmm. What are the chances the guards gain control of C-block before then and realize you’re missing? There’s no chance of escape then. You’ll be screwed, not to mention, you’ll go down for the twenty-plus murders you committed today.”
I drag my hands down my face. There’s nothing I hate more than being proven wrong, especially by Aria fucking Ashford, not that Aria is even her real name, but hell, if that’s what she wants to go by now to put distance between us, then so be it. I’ll play along. But for the record, I’ve only killed about seventeen men today. Give or take, but definitely not more than twenty.
The point is, she’s right. With modern technology and a heavy SWAT team, it won’t be long before the canteen is hit with gas bombs or something, and the guards will reclaim control of the prison. When they do, my ass will be the first they notice missing. And considering Aria’s body isn’t among the conference-room wreckage, they’ll put the pieces together pretty quickly and send out a search party. My face will be splashed across the front of every news outlet with the word WARNING in capital letters. I won’t stand a fucking chance to put distance between me and the prison before someone spots me.
If today were any other day, my plan would have gone off without a hitch, but it’s not, and if I don’t find another way, then I might as well let her go and head back to my cell. All of this would have been for nothing.
But if there’s another way . . .
Letting out a breath, I meet Aria’s heavy stare. “You really studied the blueprints?”
“Yes. And they were a pain in the ass to get my hands on, by the way.”
“What did you find?”
“Two different options. The first, which is definitely more appealing but riskier, is the old underground tunnels they used in the eighties. The guards apparently used them to get from one block to the other. The only problem is, the only documented entrance is in A-block, and that seems like it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”
“Option two?”
“Option two,” she says with a sigh, scrunching her face up. “The old sewer line.”
My brow arches. Since when is there an old sewer line that runs beneath the prison?