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)
And pee. I’d love to pee as well, but I’m not about to whip my pants down and pop a squat in front of this guy. I’d rather let him kill me. Which is also a very real possibility. I should add his constant death threats to my list of what-the-fuck moments from the day. Though, I should probably let him know that after hearing something repeated a billion times over, it starts to lose its power. I mean, surely after the way I’ve baited and gotten under his skin, if he really wanted me dead, he would have done it hours ago. But so far, nada. I’m still as alive as I was when Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos came hurling out of my guts and onto the pavement. Ha. And to think I thought that was the worst thing that was ever going to happen to me. What a joke. If only I had known, I’d never have pranced my ass through the prison gates this morning.
It’s almost another forty minutes before the light at the end of the tunnel is finally within reach, but shit, looks are deceiving. When I first saw the tiny spec of light, I thought I was seeing things, but with every step I took, that spec grew, and now, it’s barely fifty yards away.
I pick up my pace, desperate to get out of here, to feel the real world beneath my feet and figure out a game plan that’s going to see me through this shitshow. Stone’s hand reaches out and braces against the front of my chest, slowing my pace.
My head whips up, my brows furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Keep your voice down,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to a near whisper. “If the prison knows I’ve escaped, there could be armed SWAT officers and snipers waiting at the end of this tunnel.”
Oh shit.
My heart kicks up a notch, fear pulsing through my veins, but it shouldn’t. The idea of the tunnel being surrounded by officers should settle me. It should give me hope that I might actually make it out of here with a heartbeat, but it doesn’t. Because for whatever reason, I find myself trusting this wild, terrifying man.
Sure, he’s an asshole with an attitude problem, but he’s also protected me at every point of this insanity. He’s kept me safe, made sure I wasn’t harmed, and deep down, I don’t think he actually wants to hurt me.
I slowly nod, and we keep moving toward the end of the tunnel, neither of us making a sound as we listen to the world outside.
Fifty yards, turns to twenty-five, and then only ten without a single word between us. The only noise I hear is the rapid boom of my pulse in my ears. The air starts to clear, the rotten smell quickly beginning to ease up and making it easier to breathe.
It can only get better from here. I hope.
There are bars on the end of the sewer line, and for just a moment, my world shatters. I should have seen this coming. Should have known it would be welded closed, but Stone doesn’t seem fazed by the bars. To him, they’re just another obstacle standing between him and freedom.
We pause just inside the opening of the tunnel, our backs up against the walls as we stand in complete silence. I peer outside. There’s still a little bit of daylight left, and from what I can tell, we’re somewhere deep in the forest. Thick trees surround us, going on for miles with overgrown foliage, giving me just a glimpse into what the next few hours, or maybe even days, might look like for us.
There’s no sugarcoating this. It’s not going to be pretty.
The tunnel seems to end in what might have once been a flowing creek that’s long since dried up, and if Stone is smart, he’ll have us follow the old creek, because surely it might lead us to water. But then, that might be too much of an obvious choice.
Fuck. This is going to suck.
We stand in silence for at least twenty minutes, listening, waiting for any sign that we’re not alone—a small branch breaking under a heavy boot or the subtle click of a gun, but when nothing comes, Stone finally lets out a heavy breath. “We’re in the clear.”
“Holy shit,” I breathe, having started to sweat from the nerves. He steps right up to the bars and wraps his hands around them, testing their integrity. “What’s the plan? Can you get through them?”
Stone looks them over, his hand dragging down his face as though deep in thought. “Don’t know,” he mutters. “These bars weren’t made to be broken.”
“True, but they’ve also got to be at least a hundred years old. The bars might not break,” I muse, stepping up beside him and brushing my hand over the decaying concrete. “But the walls might.”