Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
So that was what I did. I stepped behind my desk.
Then, finally, crept toward the bathroom door, ignoring the way my pulse jumped and my lungs squeezed.
But when I pushed the door open far enough for it to knock off the wall behind, I was met with a small, neat little room. With nowhere for someone to hide.
I turned back, glancing around the space, wondering if maybe I’d misread the situation.
Nothing looked out of place.
Even my coffee syrups were lined up with their labels out, just as I liked them. My desk didn’t look rifled through.
My eyes zeroed in on a red pen sitting crossways over a lined notepad.
Maybe it was silly to fixate on that.
Sure, I usually set my pens back in the holder. But I’d been distracted lately. Maybe I’d left it on the pad.
Only… I didn’t really remember using a red pen at all.
And was my chair pushed out a little further than I’d left it?
I glanced back at the door and slowly made my way toward it, wondering if I’d just… not closed it.
No, I wasn’t careless.
But maybe the lock and the plunger and the edge bore weren’t lining up anymore. That happened once with my bathroom door, and I just… hadn’t noticed.
It wouldn’t have been a surprise. The office building was old. And I felt like I’d needed to fix a dozen little things since moving in: missing lightswitch plates, backward hot and cold taps, a crack in the window, holes in the wall.
The door was original.
It was probably due for some TLC.
Trying to shake the tension out of my shoulders, I moved back toward the desk, pulled out a cupholder, and set my coffee down.
I dropped my bag onto the chair, hearing another buzz from my phone as I slipped my pepper spray back into its little sleeve for easy reach.
Then I made my way into the hall, opening and closing the door to assess the strength of the connection.
“Huh,” I mumbled as I moved back inside and slid the door closed.
I’d love to say I sensed something, heard, smelled, felt my spine tingle. Something. Anything.
But I would be lying.
I didn’t suspect anything was off until a hand slapped over my mouth as an arm crushed around my midsection, squeezing hard enough to make my breath catch and strangle in my lungs.
And right then, a moment too late, I knew what I’d forgotten to check.
The damn fire escape just outside the window.
The perfect hiding place.
I’d fixed how creaky the dang thing was because the heater was set to hell all winter, and I needed to crack it to be able to not work in a sauna.
So he’d just silently opened it and slid inside while I’d been fiddling with the stupid door.
Adrenaline swelled, and it took every drop of my training to allow me to think past the thundering heartbeat and sloshing feeling in my stomach.
This was actually not the worst hold to find yourself in.
My neck was not being choked.
I tucked it anyway, protecting myself from that fate. Then I pulled my legs up to my chest, catching the guy off-guard enough to have his hold loosen just enough for me to drop my weight back down, ducked low, and slip out of his arm.
I twisted, wrapping both arms around his leg around the knee, and pulled with all my might.
It didn’t take much.
I’d practiced the move on all my cousins, both male and female, and many of the giant guys over at Hailstorm.
If you had the right hold, they all landed flat on their backs.
So did this guy.
I didn’t turn around.
I didn’t grab something and beat him senseless.
Because there was one basic truth we all had to accept during training. And that was, no matter what, most of our opponents were going to be taller, bigger, and stronger than us.
So once you got the upper hand, if you had the ability to get away, fleeing was always smarter than fighting. We were told only to stay and fight if there was no other option, if there was no hope for escape or help.
So as soon as I heard his body crash to the ground behind me, a loud grunt escaping him, I stood up straight and ran straight for the door.
“Help!” I yelled, trying each doorknob as I passed.
But none of them turned.
Dammit.
I ran past the elevator, making my way toward the stairwell, yanking it open, then flying down, my heart pounding as hard as my footsteps on the concrete.
I couldn’t even hear if there were footsteps chasing me down. And I didn’t dare risk my footing by turning back to look. I just forced myself to go harder, faster.
Until I was on the lower landing.
I debated rushing out the fire exit, but it was alarmed, and I wasn’t sure dealing with cops was my best move.