Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91402 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
One look at me tangled in the officers’ arms, shouting to get off me, and my brother came running. I hurled the phone at him, wanting to hurl the image away just as easily. It struck him in the chest with a thud and my phone fell to the grass, where he hurried to retrieve it.
He’d never been one to wear emotion, unless it was anger. That was what Jason was good at. But now, as his gaze studied the screen, there was a look of familiar horror darkening his expression.
The image was of Kara sitting upright on a bed, a bruise blooming across her cheek and a startled expression in her eyes. She wasn’t wearing anything but a tiny bra and a sheet around her waist. The subject of the email pounded in my brain like a war drum beating relentlessly.
Mine.
27
KARA
My back was flattened against the wall beneath the stairs, a shoe clutched in each hand, when Juric descended the steps.
I was counting on the element of surprise, but hadn’t factored in how exhaustion made me slow, whereas he seemed rested and alert. I swung both shoes, trying to stab him with the heel, but he caught my hands easily.
“So much for that idea,” he said, squeezing my arms until I moaned in pain and dropped the shoes. “Where are your handcuffs?”
“I threw them away.”
“Where?”
I sank down on the bed, like I was too defeated to stand, and pointed to the bathroom. He turned and stepped from the carpet onto the tile—
Now.
He slipped and went crashing to the ground because I’d made the floor slick with shampoo.
I wasn’t defeated. I’d been hoping he’d buy my act, and he had, hook, line, and sinker. I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the screaming pain in my body, and threw the door open. He was coming up the steps behind me by the time I had the door shut and dropped the bar in place.
I took a step back, sick to my stomach and dizzy from the effort. Holy crap, it worked.
A deep voice came from somewhere down the hall, saying something in a language that sounded like Italian.
It was thirteen steps to the door he’d brought me in through. I dashed across the room, vaguely aware it was a furnished sitting area. I had no shoes and absolutely no desire to find out to whom that voice belonged. I reached the door and darted outside, my feet carrying me across a driveway and into the woods that bordered the house.
I’d have to stay off the road if I had any shot of truly escaping. Branches snapped under my feet, mud squished between my toes, but I paid it no heed. For the first few minutes I simply ran, but then I tried to be smart and avoid leaving such an easy trail to follow.
I had wanted to stay away from the road, but at one point I crossed over it when no cars were coming. The clouds above threatened rain. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. It’d slow me down but maybe cover my tracks, too.
It seemed like my adrenaline wore off too quickly and I was bone tired again. The woods were denser and hilly now, and I had to focus my mind on small tasks to keep going. Make it up this hill. To the tree with the broken branch. Just a little farther.
I allowed myself thirty seconds to rest against a stump, but when the thirty seconds were up, I had to take thirty more. Then I pressed on.
There was a crumbling stone wall across the landscape I considered hiding beside. Trees grew around and through it and it had probably been there for centuries. Something that in any other situation I would have found fascinating but Europeans probably took for granted. Commonplace.
No, I had to keep moving. My body was shutting down, and if I stopped, I’d collapse. At the top of the next hill, I discovered I was close to the road again and there was a small shop perched on the corner.
In my excitement to get there, my foot hung on a branch and sent me tumbling to the ground. My cut broke open, and it was like Juric was slicing me with every breath I took.
The little store was a butcher shop, and the older man behind the deli counter froze when I burst through the door. I couldn’t imagine what I must look like. My feet were bare, caked in dirt, and there were probably still leaves tangled in my hair from when I’d fallen down the hill.
“Help,” I said. “I need to use your phone.”
He stared at me with total disbelief, understanding nothing.
Oh, no. I was a stupid American. Why hadn’t I tried harder to learn another language?