Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Damn it. Why wasn’t she waking up? The asshole who’d hit her from behind had used some weapon Keys hadn’t seen from his position on the ground, but probably a baseball bat, just like the one used on him. He’d hit her hard. Keys smelled blood. “Come on, woman, wake the hell up.”
Keys was born in hell and lived there for years, but he had been given gifts that he’d taken the time to develop. He could play any instrument and had an ear for perfectly pitched music. Truth be told, that was what landed him here. Lyric laughed often with her customers and with him. Her laughter was sweet most of the time, but when she laughed at—or with—him, she had the absolutely purest notes he’d ever heard. He found himself wanting that laughter just for himself—and she gave it to him.
He had a major affinity for wood. Any wood. He touched it and read its history. He worked with wood, building beautiful things. Just touching wood could bring peace to him, just as his musical instruments did. This coffin…not so peaceful.
He and Lyric weren’t the only ones who had been inside that box, but the others weren’t alive anymore. They’d been tortured and then died in the makeshift coffin. The wood itself was on the flimsy side. Whoever had constructed the box had done so with haste and no pride in their work. That was good for him.
“All right, baby, I’m telling you to wake the hell up.” Because he wasn’t a man who felt fear. He’d lived through too much. He was a trained assassin and had been since he was a child. He had nothing to live for, therefore he didn’t fear death. But he did fear for her. The pain-in-his-ass woman who he couldn’t stay away from when there was absolutely no sane reason to keep her in his life.
“Your fault we’re in this predicament, darlin’, so open your eyes.” He dipped his head and locked his teeth on her full lower lip. That damned lip he’d spent far too much time fantasizing about. He bit down and tugged gently before feathering his lips over hers again, just to catch her breath in his mouth.
She groaned. Tried to turn her head, but he wanted to see her eyes. Assess the damage.
“Look at me, Wildfire. Open your eyes and look at me.”
“Not yet. I can’t feel my arms. At all. I’m afraid to look.”
“Open your eyes. You were hit in the head, and you’ve been out for a while. I need to know how hurt you are.”
“Suffice it to say my head exploded and my brains have leaked out.” She murmured the words, a whisper of sound that sent a ripple of heat through him. That voice. When she was unguarded, like now, her tone played over his every nerve ending.
“Good to know you’ll rely on my judgment since you’re admitting you have no brain at the moment.”
Her lips did that now-familiar moue he found himself looking for when he was with her. That dimple that made him want to trace it with his tongue. Lately, that had been often—too often. He’d broken every rule his club had to visit her, and he still didn’t have a clue why.
“Why are you on top of me? I can barely breathe. Get off. I can’t breathe, and I can’t feel my arms. They’re trapped under me. With your weight on top of me, I can’t move them.” Her eyes remained tightly closed, as if she knew better than to examine the world around her.
“You can breathe, and you’re unable to move your arms because they’ve gone to sleep.”
The coffin slid to the left and then pitched to the right, hitting the side of the truck’s bed, shaking them both up. The road was even rougher than before. And steep. He felt her breath catch in her throat.
“That hurt you?” He detested that he couldn’t examine the wound on the back of her head.
“My head really does feel like it exploded. And I’m hot. I hate that my arms are trapped, and you have to get off of me.” She whispered it to him like she was embarrassed. “I know this sounds silly, but I have horrible claustrophobia. I don’t like the feeling that I can’t move.”
That wasn’t great news. “I’ll get us out of here.”
“Where are we?”
“At the moment we’re prisoners, and we’re being hauled up a mountain, presumably into the forest, where I believe our captors think they’re going to have fun torturing us.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “I can’t say as I’m looking forward to that.”
Okay. He didn’t do cute. He didn’t have chest pains just looking at a woman’s expression. He sure as hell didn’t get all protective. He was feeling…murderous.
“I’ll keep us alive. Just don’t try your wildcat-on-fire girlie attack. Let me handle it.”