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)
“What are you going to do?”
“Kill them. All of them. And you’re going to try not to hear a sound, or if they drag you out of here, you close your eyes and don’t look.”
“But I can’t help you. Even if they do get me out of here, I can’t feel my arms.”
Her fear was for him, not herself. He tucked that away to process at another time. The truck swerved, slid sideways. That made no sense; they were practically at a crawl.
“I have certain skills, Lyric. They’ll lift me out of here, and I’ll appear to be deadweight. They don’t know I have the cuffs off and I’ve kept the circulation going in my arms and legs. Trust me, babe, they won’t have a chance. I just don’t want you to see me do this.”
“I have scissors in a pocket of my jacket if you can get to them. Front left pocket. I always carry a kit with me.”
“Woman, are you telling me you attacked with a blow-dryer when you had scissors?”
Before she could reply, the truck spun, throwing the coffin against the sides of the bed. The truck hit something, most likely a solid tree, and came to an abrupt stop.
“Game on, baby,” he whispered when the jarring in his head from the wreck settled. He once more took her mouth. Gently. Reverently. If they didn’t make it, he was going out with the taste of her as his last memory.
Two
Lyric was a damn good actress, under the circumstances, and a far better partner than Keys could have conceived. The lid of the coffin was torn off, and hands reached down to drag him out of the box. He kept his body limp. The cuffs appeared to be locked around his wrists, and he was thrown some distance from the truck, landing in leaves and dirt like a rag doll.
It was pouring, the rain nearly obscuring his vision, but he still saw the way the biggest asshole reached into the coffin and dragged Lyric out by the front of her shirt. The material ripped, exposing a pale, frost-blue, lacy bra and breasts even more perfect than he’d thought.
She didn’t try to cover up. She didn’t react at all, looking for all the world as if she were dead.
“Shit, Chester, you hit her too hard. Is she dead? I was lookin’ forward to a little fun.”
“Naw, Hank, she’s breathin’, just still out.” Chester swung her into his arms and carried her, sliding a little in the mud and slick leaves and pine needles.
“Maybe we oughta figure out what to do about the truck,” Hank ventured.
Hank and Chester were in front of Keys, slipping and sliding in the mud, bringing Lyric’s limp body closer to him. That left the other three somewhere behind him.
“Once we take care of business here, we can hike to the main trail and find a spot that gives us cell phone service,” a third voice chimed in.
That gave Keys his location, only about three feet away and to his left.
“Truck’s toast, Albert,” Chester said. “I thought you said Bruin had skills. He crashed into a tree and nearly rolled us. I wouldn’t say lover boy has mad driving skills.”
Chester clearly didn’t like Bruin. Keys kept still, waiting. It didn’t take long. Bruin wasn’t going to allow the taunt to go unanswered. His answer was predictable. “Fuck you, Chester.” The response was overly loud and belligerent. Keys pegged the little weasel to be the kicker. He was a vicious little fucker trying to earn the others’ respect. And he was to the right of Keys, lined up with his ribs. He had a knife in his belt. A nice big hunting knife.
“We gotta film this shit to show proof.” The fifth voice came from the direction of the truck.
That was bad luck. He was clearly in charge, and he was a distance from Keys. That could present a problem. His body was in shit shape from lying for so many hours in that coffin. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he knew it had been long enough to tell him he most likely had a concussion. He was certain Lyric had a concussion as well.
“We’ll film it, Merrit,” Chester assured him. “I’ve had hours to think what I want to do to that bitch, and I’m going for every single one.”
“Yeah,” Hank agreed. “We’re going to fuck her up for that video. I’ll want copies to share with my boys.”
Rage swept through Keys, but it wasn’t hot or volcanic, it was glacier cold and deadly. He kept his gaze on Lyric. She hadn’t even flinched. Maybe she was unconscious. Hell, he hoped so. He didn’t want her to see anything he did. He was a fuckin’ killer. Plain and simple, trained from the time he was four years old to kill in just about every method possible. He was exceptionally good at it. Quiet about it, but that was what made him so good. He was always under the radar.