Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
He tilts his head, regarding me like I’m a curious animal. His smirk is gone now, replaced with something more dangerous. Predatory. Certain.
“You don’t understand,” he says softly, too softly, the kind of calm that makes my skin crawl. “Everything was going according to plan … until you showed up. Now … everything has changed.”
I keep my gaze locked on him, measuring his stance. I see the cold hate in his eyes. Not anger. Not desperation. Just complete certainty that he hates us both. We stole his inheritance.
“I don’t care about your plans,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Let her go. You don’t have to do this.”
He laughs lightly, a sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about letting her go. It’s about leverage. Now that you’re here, it’s perfect. I can use both of you. You and her.”
I feel a cold weight in my chest. I’ve dealt with violent men before. I’ve dealt with desperate men before. But this is different. He is neither. He is a sociopath, someone willing to kill other people to get what he wants. I can tell he isn’t bluffing. Every fiber of his body screams intent. He wants this. Both of us. Dead.
“My father’s money,” he says, almost conversationally. “The solicitor will release it to an untraceable account when he gets my call. Or you die. Jo dies. Everyone dies. That’s the arrangement. Of course, you’re both going to die anyway once I have the money, but he doesn’t need to know that. It would rather spoil the fun if he did.”
I swallow hard. My fingers tighten on the edge of the wheelchair. My mind races, searching for a way out, a crack in his plan. There’s none visible. Not yet. I wonder if I shove the wheelchair at him, it will startle him enough for Jo to run. It might be enough to get her going, but she will never reach the safety of the outside world before he recovers from that.
Then I hear it. The sound is distant at first, then unmistakable. Sirens. I feel a tiny flare of hope inside of me. It looks like Betty has come through and potentially saved Jo’s life again.
Sheldon hears it too and stiffens immediately, the gun jerking slightly in his hand. His eyes flick towards the grime-covered windows, then back to me.
“When did you call the police?” Sheldon snaps. His voice is sharp, demanding.
I take a slow breath. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “Clearly it wasn’t me. You’ve been watching me since I found her, so you know I had nothing to do with it. They aren’t coming here.”
He pauses, the gun lowering fractionally. Confusion flickers in his gaze. I push it. I need to keep him focused on me, so if that is the police coming for us, they can get in undetected and disarm him.
“I get it, you know. I’d be furious, too,” I say, keeping my voice low, calm, reasoning. “What happened with the will. All of it. If I were you, I’d be pissed off to say the least. But it’s ok. You can still walk away from this if you stop now. You can put the gun down and we can work this out. We can share the inheritance. It’s such a big chunk of money. Jo can’t spend all that money. You can have half. You know, you always just have to ask and it will be given to you. No one has to get hurt. Not her. Not you. Not me. Put the gun down, Sheldon. Please.”
The seconds stretch out. The tension thickens the air like concrete. Sheldon doesn’t respond immediately. He’s calculating. Listening. Considering.
Then the door bursts open in a violent crash. The air vibrates with the impact. Red and blue light floods the warehouse through broken windows. The police are here. Finally.
Sheldon reacts instinctively. The gun snaps up. He fires.
I barely have time to move. My body reacts before my brain does. I step in front of Jo. The shot misses us by inches, shattering a crate to my left. Wood splinters, dust explodes into the air. My ears ring.
Sheldon freezes for a heartbeat, his eyes wide, as the reality hits him. He’s surrounded. Cornered. His plan is collapsing. And then he does the last thing I would have predicted. He smiles. A strange, crooked smile.
The police shout for him to put his gun down or they’ll shoot.
“You and that dumb whore don’t get to win this one,” he crows.
Then he turns the gun on himself, pushing the barrel into his mouth. He pulls the trigger, and I hear the incredible sound of the gunshot echo off the bare concrete floors. He collapses. Cold. Dead. A splatter of red and grey stains the floor behind him.
I don’t move immediately. I can’t. I have never seen a man die like that. It is a shock. A terrible, terrible shock. My chest heaves, adrenaline surging through me, and my heart slams inside my ribcage. Jo’s arms wrap around my back suddenly, holding on like her life depends on it, which, in a sense, it did. Her touch snaps me out of my shock, and I turn around and hold her tightly.