Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
My stomach twisted, but I just looked at him with the same expression as before. “That won’t be necessary, I won’t scream.” I gave Maddox a thin smile. “And just so we’re clear—you’re not in a movie either, so let’s skip the theatrics and get on with it.”
He didn’t like that which made me feel better, even if it might be the last bit of control I had.
The SUV rocked gently as it veered off the main road, its tires crunching over loose gravel while tree branches scraped along the sides. Wherever we were going, it was close now—I could feel it in the narrowing path and the shift in the driver’s posture. My stomach twisted with unease, but I forced myself to stay calm, keeping my expression neutral and my hands resting lightly on my thighs as if this were nothing more than another routine business trip.
Maddox hadn’t spoken a single word since we left the hotel. He sat in the front passenger seat, silently tapping away on his phone with the calm precision of someone orchestrating the cleanup of a mess no one even knew existed yet. Behind me, one of his men kept his hand hovering a little too close to his weapon. At the same time, the other had chosen the seat right next to mine—which, FYI, was far too close for comfort, especially as it seemed he'd eaten a whole bulb of garlic for breakfast—as if he were waiting for me to flinch just so he could enjoy it.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I also didn't tell him the weapon was unnecessary, given that his breath could do me in if he breathed straight on me.
Instead, I let my mind drift for a moment, just long enough to push past the tension crackling in the car and think about something—anything—else. I found myself hoping, somewhat absurdly, that the raccoons were doing okay.
It was ridiculous, I know that. But the image of that little possum waddling out of the bush to save me, the raccoons swarming that guy for a can of rotten fish—it made me feel… less alone. Like maybe, if I didn’t make it out of this, someone would remember me as the woman who accidentally recruited swamp wildlife into a tactical unit. And that wasn't nothing.
We came to a stop in front of what looked like an abandoned construction site—the steel bones of a building left to rot in the middle of nowhere. A future office park, maybe. Or some vanity project that had died with the last financial scandal. Whatever this place was, one thing was clear—it was remote and deliberately isolated. There were no security cameras, no curious neighbors peeking through blinds, no one within earshot. Just silence and space, the kind of place chosen when someone didn’t want to be seen or stopped.
In essence, it was the perfect place for a body to go missing—sadly for me.
They marched me inside, down a hall of skeletal walls and hollow echoes, into a small side room that might’ve been an office once. Now, it was just bare concrete, rusted rebar, and dust.
A single chair waited in the center of the room, positioned with such quiet intent that it felt like it had been placed there just for me. I didn’t wait for instructions or look for permission. Instead, I stepped inside, crossed the space without hesitation, and lowered myself into the seat as if I’d known all along that this moment was inevitable.
Maddox stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face calm. “You’ll stay here,” he said, “until we’re ready to handle the rest.”
“Great,” I drawled. “Hope the room service is prompt.”
He didn’t react, didn’t speak—just gave a silent nod to the others, then turned and walked out without a backward glance. The door creaked shut behind him, the sound dragging out like a warning, and a moment later, the lock slid into place with a cold, final clunk that echoed through the room.
The moment I was alone, I moved. I slipped off my jacket and dropped to my knees, reaching into the lining of my boot. My fingers closed around the small plastic casing of the small tracking device I’d picked up from the electronics store.
Before I left the hotel, I’d deliberately torn the packaging open and left it on the floor, just peeking out from under the bed. It was something that someone might overlook if they were in a rush, but someone like Webb and his friends would spot it. And if they did, they’d know exactly what to do.
I tucked the tracker beneath the chair, wedging it into the curve where one of the legs met the bolt. It was small enough not to notice but close enough to me that any signal it gave off would tell them where I was—or where my body ended up.