Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Either way, I know time is running out. I give a stop motion to the girls before I step through the doorway.
Joey’s head snaps up. He doesn’t look surprised. He looks... relieved.
“Luke,” he says, slowly smiling. “I wondered when you and your little team would figure it out. You’re smarter than you look.”
“Let her go, Joey.”
“Which one?” He gestures with the knife toward Emily. “The one who came crawling back to me for protection, for help?” He turns slightly to face me more.
“Come on out, ladies,” he calls louder, “or I’ll stab her now.” Both of them step out. “There she is.” His eyes lock on Madeline, and it takes all my control to not react. “The other one”—he nods toward Madeline—“who thinks she’s too good for this town after being at Kingmakers for half a second before turning into one of them.”
“Joey.” Madeline gentles her voice. “You’re not a killer.” I beg to differ.
“Aren’t I?” he laughs, a broken sound. “My father killed the woman who tried to take me from him. Who was too good for us. Then I killed Murphy.”
“Did you kill her for some kind of justice for what she’s been doing with students or because you’re jealous that, just like your father, you didn’t get picked either?”
“I wasn’t done talking!” he bellows, raising the knife to his temple; he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Now where was I?”
“Doing a fucking lot of bitching like a bitch boy.” I shake my head, feigning irritation, and announce, “Are you almost finished with this little monologue? Or do you want to tell us how your daddy taught you how to cut women up?”
“Don’t you fucking talk about my father.” The calm cracks, rage bleeding through. He holds the knife out, pointed at me now. “He protected us.” Spit flies out as he speaks. “Wouldn’t let anyone disrespect us. He wanted me; he kept me safe, and I feel it’s time I keep the whole town safe from the Kingmakers. After this massacre, I’m sure those parents won’t be sending any kids back to this town.”
I wouldn’t be too sure of that.
“Cool story, bro.” Utter rage flashes across his face. Perfect. Rage makes you sloppy. The madder he gets, the more distracted he gets. I know now is my chance if I’m going to make a move, and I take it.
I charge him.
I hear the girls scream behind me. Joey is caught off guard.
He raises the knife back to swing, but I’m already inside his reach, driving my shoulder into his chest. We crash into a workbench, tools scattering across the concrete. A wrench rolls past my foot as Joey’s elbow catches my cheek, snapping my head back.
“Luke!” Madeline screams.
“Get her out!” I shout, grappling for the knife. “Get Emily and run!” I order, trusting that Madeline will live up to her word.
Joey fights dirty—knee up, fingers clawing at my eyes, teeth snapping toward my throat. But fighting dirty is the name of my game. He picked the wrong one.
He is desperate and stronger than I thought he’d be. We spin, crashing against the chair Emily is tied to. She screams against the tape.
“You’re all dead,” Joey hisses, spit flying. “You privileged assholes, thinking you can just take—”
Grant appears from the shadows behind him.
I didn’t hear him come in, but he’s there, as I knew he would be, grabbing Joey by the hair and yanking him backward. The knife clatters to the floor. I kick it across the room, gasping. I blink, trying to clear my vision from swimming, but I’m used to a few blows to the head. I shake it off.
“Go!” Grant yells at the girls so they hurry.
Madeline doesn’t hesitate. She’s already at Emily, tearing at the ropes, Georgia helping pull the tape from her mouth. Emily sobs, gasping for air.
I don’t watch them leave. I keep my eyes on Joey, who’s still struggling against Grant’s grip, his face twisted with rage as crazy shit spouts from him, giving me a fucking headache. He wonders why all the girls are always running from him.
“Hold him,” I say to Grant, and he tightens his fist in Joey’s hair, yanking his head back. Joey snarls, thrashing, but Grant’s got sixty pounds on him and leverage to spare. He can’t take either of us unarmed.
I step closer, close enough to see the madness in his eyes. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit on some level I can relate.
“You know what your problem is, Joey?” I say, low and steady. “You talk too fucking much.”
I drive my fist into his jaw. His head snaps sideways, eyes rolling back. He goes limp in Grant’s hands.
“Jesus,” Grant breathes out. “He was giving me a headache.”
I grunt in agreement. Grant releases his hold, letting him drop. Joey hits the concrete hard, limbs splayed out like a broken doll. Out cold. I give a few small kicks to double-check and one more for good measure.