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)
My brow arches, and I consider it for just a second before realizing my immediate answer should have been a disgusted no. The fact that I even took a moment to think about it tells me how far I’m sinking, and I’ve only been gone two days. I barely even recognize myself anymore.
I should be petrified. I should be searching for every escape. Looking for ways to free myself and land this asshole back in prison. Instead, I’m anxiously waiting for the next time he just so happens to throw me up against a wall. Hell, I’ve already started plotting ways to get under his skin just enough to make that infinite control slip.
“Come on,” Stone murmurs, as the reporter asks Janette what she would say to me if she knew I was watching right now. “We’ve seen what we need to see. We’ve gotta find these keys and move.”
I nod, and as Janette wails again, I turn off the TV, not giving a flying fuck what she wants to say to me right now. Setting the remote back in the coffee table drawer, I make sure it’s exactly where I left it before getting up and following Stone out of the living room.
We search the house for almost fifteen minutes, and I’m starting to lose hope as I kneel next to the owner’s bed, madly searching through a bedside drawer. Beneath a pile of old mail and auto repair invoices, a single black key stares back at me. It’s hanging from a small red keyring that reads Firebird.
“This it?” I call.
Stone appears in the doorway, his eyes tracking over the key before grinning. “That’s it,” he says, walking in and taking the little fucker right out of my hand.
Pride swells in my chest as I follow Stone out of the bedroom, but the moment lasts only a second when he stops in the kitchen and pulls out a large black trash bag, shaking it out. “What are you—”
He doesn’t allow me a chance to get my question out before cutting past me to the small bathroom and collecting our old clothes, shoving his orange jumpsuit into the bag along with the sage pants that had cost me a pretty penny.
I figured we were leaving that shit behind. It’s not as though we have any need for it, but on second thought, we need to cover our tracks. Any evidence left behind is an arrow leading the FBI directly to us.
He comes straight back to the kitchen and collects a backpack off the ground, throwing it over his shoulder as I gape at it. When the hell did he have a chance to pack a bag? But more importantly, what the fuck is in it? It’s filled to the brim, water bottles shoved into the side pockets, while blankets and spare jackets were left sitting on top.
“Come on, we need to get going,” he murmurs.
Not having a moment to question him, I start following him out the laundry room door, as I say goodbye to the only peace I’ve known over the past two days.
Stone leads me to a run-down shed, and confusion swarms through me—until he tears the door open, revealing a classic car hidden within.
“Oh, do we get to play real-life GTO?”
Stone grins, and I swear, it might just be the first smile of his I’ve ever seen. At least, in this new life. “Assuming she kicks over, then yeah.”
Excitement builds deep in my gut, and I all but throw myself into the passenger seat as Stone moves around the front of the shed, opening up the garage door. He hurries back, tossing the backpack and the black trash bag into the back before finally settling himself in front of the wheel. It’s almost comical how big he is. The guy needs a convertible so his head has somewhere to go, but something tells me if I were to let him know, my stupid little joke isn’t going to land well.
His fingers hover over the key in the ignition as if nervous for what the next few seconds are going to bring, and when he finally grips the key and twists, the car’s engine roars to life, rumbling through the seat beneath me.
Stone’s grin widens, and not a moment later, he hits the gas, sailing out of the driveway without a single glance back.
My heart races. We just stole a car.
That’s insane.
Well, not as insane as me stealing the gun from an unconscious guard, shooting an inmate, and then escaping the prison with one of the world’s most notorious killers, but what can I say? It’s been a weird few days.
With neither of us knowing where the hell we’re going, Stone just drives, doing what he can to lead us out of the town and far from any prying eyes, and honestly, this car doesn’t exactly scream discreet. We’re going to have to lose it at some point and switch it out for something a little less conspicuous.