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)
After taking long strides to the shed, I grip the door and pull. Finding it locked, frustration burns through me, but just like the main door, I twist and pull, using all of my strength until I snap the locking mechanism.
Opening the door, I step inside, only to find myself staring at an old 1979 Pontiac Firebird. It looks as though the owner has been fixing her up and is just about done. Apart from a few inconsistencies in the black paint work, she’s absolutely perfect. The question is, where the fuck are the keys, and does the old girl kick over?
Don’t get me wrong, it wouldn’t be the biggest hassle if the car doesn’t run. It’s as easy as slipping into the neighbor’s property, grabbing the keys off the bench or from a handbag, and taking off. But this right here, it’s too good an opportunity to pass up. There’s nothing quite like convenience to make my day.
As for the keys. I’ll take one fucking guess.
Slipping inside the classic Firebird, I settle in, pushing the driver’s seat all the way back. It’s squishy as fuck, but not every car is built for a man like me. Not that I’ve had the pleasure of sitting in one for a while. I’m going to enjoy this. Hell, I’m almost going to feel bad stealing it from the guy. I’ll ditch it in a gutter somewhere once we’re far enough away, and I’m sure at some point, the car will make its way back home. But until then, I’m going to sure as fuck enjoy driving the shit outta this thing.
Reaching up, I pull the sun visor down, and just as expected, a set of keys falls straight into my hand. There’s nothing I love more than a trusting small town, and believe me, Ash, Riley, and I have caused enough chaos in plenty of them.
Flipping the keys around in my hand, I go to push them into the ignition, only to find they don’t fit. “The fuck?” I mutter to myself, giving it a closer look and realizing that while they’re car keys, they’re certainly not meant for this car.
Shit.
Who the fuck puts keys in the visor that don’t belong to that specific car?
I start madly searching, checking the center console and glove compartment before pushing out of the Firebird and checking every nook and cranny this old shed has to offer, coming up blank. I go to make my way back to the house, certain they’ll be there, when movement in my peripheral has my gaze shifting to the small window in the laundry room door.
Aria is there, wearing a pair of long tights and an oversized white button-up, only half the buttons are done up, her black bra peeking through the deep V-neck, and she has the sleeves folded up as though being fashionable is somehow the most important thing while we’re on the run. Gotta give it to her, she pulls it off flawlessly.
Her hair is soaking, and as she rakes her fingers through it, she looks around, only there’s something in her stance that has my back stiffening, and I watch her a moment longer. She glances over her shoulder, discreetly peering down the hallway before sparing a longing glance toward the laundry room door.
My brow arches, and I shake my head as I move around to the door, keeping my eye on my little menace.
She’s trying to make a run for it, but that’s not about to happen.
Slipping out of the old shed, I make my way down the side of the house as Aria takes one last glance around, making sure she’s in the clear, and as I lean up against the side of the house, kicking one foot over the other, I listen to the subtle sounds of my girl throwing herself out the side door and making a fucking break for it.
She careens around the side of the house, whipping her head back over her shoulder to make sure I’m not roaring after her, only to slam directly into me a second later. She hits me with so much momentum that her long hair whips right around to my back, leaving a wet imprint on the back of my clean shirt.
“Oomph,” she grunts, getting the wind knocked out of her.
“Going somewhere, princess?”
“FUCK!”
She shoves her hands against my chest, about ready to have a tantrum, when the sound of a car rolling past the property has both our heads whipping around. The Sheriff’s patrol car crawling by makes my heart drop right out of my ass.
I grab Aria before she even has a second to comprehend what we’re seeing, and I slam her up against the side of the house. With one hand clamped over her mouth, I press hard against hers, concealed by the overgrown garden at the side of the property.