Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Allister is on my heels as we cut through the kitchen noise and out the back door into the alley. I hit the door so hard it snaps my wrists back with a jolt of pain. A blast of icy wind hits me, and for a moment the darkness blinds me.
The shapes of a few cars in the back alley come into focus. The hushed voices of a couple making their way down the street toward the front of the building. The wind whistling between buildings. That's all I hear besides the voice in my head.
May. May. May.
"The car's waiting." Allister steps in front of me, and I follow.
The tips of my fingers are shaking. My heart is thudding against my chest wall. Each breath becomes a shudder on the way out. I break into a run. I can't do this slow, it needs to be hard and fast and done before I lose my fucking mind.
When we get to the car, I stop as Allister opens the door, but stay standing outside. My phone is dinging a sound it doesn't usually make. Out of breath, I dig into my inner jacket pocket and pull out my personal phone. The screen is black. I touch the button. It lights up. No calls, no texts. What the fuck?
Then I remember.
Fuck.
I reach around, slapping my hand on each of my pockets until I find the other phone. The one I forgot I stuffed in my jacket this morning. The one I have connected to the tracking app on the phone I gave May.
I hit the button, and the alert pops up. The tracker is on, and she's on the move.
I'm pulling up the map when the scream cuts through the night. My blood goes cold. At the same instant, the map loads. A blinking red dot.
May.
The screaming has stopped, silenced maybe, but I don't want to think about that. I'm locked on like a viper. My feet slam the pavement. Allister shouts something from behind me as I turn and race away from the car.
If someone has their fucking hands on her, this day will be their last.
I'm between two buildings. She's not far. My senses sharpen. A candy wrapper blowing under a dumpster. The hum of electrical wires running over my head. The sound of struggle and muffled screams.
I slam myself against a brick wall, easing toward the corner. Every muscle in my body is rock hard. Coiled. Ready. The flash of headlights catches my eye. A black Mercedes in the parking lot to my left, behind the building. My heart is unusually slow. My breathing even.
"Shut the fuck up." It's a man's voice, bored and raspy. It echoes around the corner. "You're nothing but a pain in the ass. Sneaking out again? You're an idiot. Dad sent me to find your ass and bring you back, that's all, but you always have to make this harder than it is. Fucking little crazy ass bitch cun—"
He doesn't get that last word out before I spin around the edge of the building. May's eyes flash with horror as Victor drags her toward the Mercedes, his hand clamped over her nose and mouth.
His split second of surprise is all I need. May is barely to his shoulder. With one roundhouse swing, my fist smashes into his eye socket. Bone crunches. The night fills with the sound.
It's enough. His hand drops away from her, and in the seconds before he recovers, I meet her eyes.
"You're okay." I'm too rough getting her behind me, and she stumbles, but she keeps her feet. I hate it. Can't concentrate on that right now. Victor's trying to refocus his vision. Only a matter of seconds before I have to deal with this son of a bitch.
He has no idea what just hit him, but he's going to get a second chance real soon.
"Get over there!" I yell to May, pointing toward a metal door with a security light over it. She's frozen. Shock will do that to a person, but I need her to listen. "Pink!" The word draws her eyes. Her mouth opens. She takes a gasping breath. "Over there." I make my voice as gentle as I can. "Go over and stand by that light."
Victor's a step away from me, but he's no match. A fuck like this is all slick talk, but he hasn't been through the trenches. I've got skills, and he's got a manicure.
My second blow comes up from below, slamming his perfect teeth together. A flash of white incisor breaks loose. It arcs from the spray of crimson and lands on the black pavement. I'm not done.
When he gasps for air, I take hold of his shoulders and pull him down, doubling him over as my knee comes up and connects with his nose. A guttural, clenching scream erupts from him. His white dress shirt is tie-dyed with his own blood. He crumples to my feet with a pathetic whine.