Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
It doesn’t take me long to figure out what’s happening, and disgust races through my trembling body once the picture comes together. There’s one thing about me that’s never going to change, and that’s a sense of fairness. This isn’t fair. How is one guy supposed to defend himself against two tall, muscular guys like the ones now glaring at me after I interrupted them?
“Hey,” one of the two grunts at me between his pants for breath.
It’s only when I pull my gaze from the guy on the ground and focus on the heartless bully in front of me that I realize I must be looking at twins. They’re almost identical, except for the way they style their dark hair—I can’t tell if it’s brown or black in the amber glow shining down from one of the parking lot lights—but one of them wears it long enough for it to flop across his forehead, while the other wears it short. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. They’re both dressed well, clean shaven, the opposite of what I’d expect from a couple of brutal thugs. I should know better than that.
Long Hair jerks his chin while giving me an angry glare. “Get out of here. Mind your business.”
“Yeah, fucking get lost,” his twin mutters before he pulls his right leg back so he can kick the wounded man in the ribs.
Right in front of me. He did it right in front of me like he didn’t care whether or not I was watching. The words bubble out of me before I can stop them. “You can’t just do that! Since when is two against one okay?”
“Are you for real?” Short Hair scoffs and looks me up and down before scoffing again like he’s unimpressed by my petite frame. “You better leave and forget all about this if you know what’s good for you.”
I should, too. I know I should. Every drop of common sense I possess is begging me to get the hell out of here while I still can. But dammit, it’s not right, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I cowered away from doing the right thing. Gritting my teeth against the fear that demands I stay silent, I mutter, “I’m going to get security out here unless you leave him alone.”
“This little bitch can’t take a hint.” Long Hair jerks his head back so the locks brushing his forehead are swept back. “Last warning. Get moving and forget about this, or you’re going to wish you did.”
Is that supposed to scare me? If anything, the lame threat gives me strength I was missing before now and makes me forget the fatigue threatening to take my legs out. “This is your last warning,” I fire back at him, making his dark eyes widen while his twin snickers. “I’m going back inside and getting a security guard out here if you don’t walk away now.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He never breaks eye contact while bending down to grab the shirt collar of the guy who’s still barely conscious on the ground. He hauls him up, then makes it a point to exchange a look with me before smashing his fist against the guy’s face. I don’t know what’s worse: the sound of flesh hitting flesh, or the miserable, painful groan the victim releases.
Forget this. I should go to the car, I know I should, but instead, my feet take me back inside the hospital. I’m moving more slowly than I did before—the fatigue is really creeping up on me. A trio of strangers is the last thing I need to be worried about, but for some reason, not even getting to the car so I can rest means as much as stopping those arrogant pricks. And that’s all they are, too. Imagine knowing I’m standing there watching them and doing it, anyway. Two against one. It doesn’t take a brave person to engage in that fight.
That’s why there is so much resentment and even outrage boiling in my veins by the time I reach the front desk, where a security guard sits off to the side. “There’s somebody getting beaten up in the parking lot, two guys against one,” I announce a little breathlessly. “I told them to stop. I told them I’d come get security, but they didn’t care.”
“I’ll call the police.” The woman sitting behind the desk already has the phone in her hand.
Shit. The police? I figured I’d get security involved and that would be it. Then again, what do I care? They had plenty of chances to stop what they were doing, and they chose not to. Maybe the police should be involved.
That doesn’t mean I’m in any hurry to get back out there, though. After waiting a few moments for the security guard to reach the spot next to the black truck, I hustle back outside. The closer I get, the clearer I can hear the guys arguing their case. Static fills the air—a walkie-talkie. The guard is calling for a stretcher. That’s the kind of shape they left their victim in. Now I’m glad the police are on their way.