Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
He had no idea where he was or where he was heading. The headlights weren’t working, and it became impossible to see in the dark. Having no choice, he turned toward the streetlights.
His eyes strained, growing heavy as the dull ache in his head continued to throb. His vision swam with exhaustion as his adrenaline crashed.
The fuel gauge hovered just above empty when he reached some sort of ancient, abandoned road.
How long had he been driving?
His heart raced spastically, and his head was killing him.
He needed to ditch the car and find a hiding place for the night. Somewhere to rest.
His eyes closed. Maybe for just a second. He shook his head. His vision swam.
A sign emerged in the distance—LONDON - 12 MILES.
London. Crowds. But also anonymity.
Find a place to hide.
He thought of the rats, of all the places they lived. Out of sight. He could go to the sewers. Go somewhere Aurin’s men wouldn’t find him.
Jack followed the signs.
The city rose around him gradually, and soon he was weaving through the grey sprawl of the metropolis. A spray of sparks followed him.
His driving skills hadn’t improved, and he was attracting too much attention. Too many obstacles. He needed to ditch the car.
An underground car park materialized ahead. Jack yanked the wheel and plunged into concrete darkness. The Porsche scraped against a pillar as he took a corner too tightly. He shoved the gear shift into park just as the front connected with a cinderblock wall.
He killed the engine. Sat in the sudden silence, breathing heavily. His lungs crunched and rattled.
Move.
His body wouldn’t cooperate.
The crash was hitting him now. Just like it did whenever the chancellor left his room. First, the shakes. Then his muscles turned to water. Cold. So fucking cold.
He couldn’t stop shivering.
His thoughts dripped, slow and thick.
Move, damn you. You have to keep moving!
Jack fumbled for the door handle. His hand crusted with a mixture of dry and wet blood, his fingers numb and unsteady.
When he finally caught the handle and pulled, his body spilled out of the car. He landed hard on his hands and knees, the ground unsteady beneath him.
Vision swirling, he moaned, then vomited.
He just needed to close his eyes for a second, then he’d be ready to go.
One second…
His eyes popped open, and he was lying on the cold ground, face wet with vomit. He wiped his mouth and groaned, wobbling as he tried to push himself up.
His eyes tried so hard to close again. He slapped his cheeks, forced himself to sit up, but the pounding in his head intensified with every move. He crawled into the car, so tempted to curl onto the glass-covered leather and sleep.
“No,” he growled, forcing his fists to close around the pillowcases.
He needed to find a place to hide. Then he could rest. Forcing himself to his feet, he slipped in the pile of puke.
“Fuck!”
His leg buckled, and he crashed to his knees. His leg wouldn’t hold. Pain seared up his thigh. His eyes refused to focus. His body wasn’t cooperating.
Clenching his teeth, he dragged the pillowcases away from the car. They were so heavy.
He limped toward the exit, each step sending fire through his leg as his chest burned.
His skull throbbed as if split open. Dried blood crusted to his face.
The streets were chaotic.
He kept to the shadows. His steps shuffled with an uneven gait. Keeping his head down, he moved with no destination in mind. When he found an alley, he rested. When he nodded off, he forced himself to get up and keep moving.
Footsteps everywhere.
Trust no one.
Keep moving.
Hide.
Survive.
He walked for hours. Neighborhoods changed around him. Gone were the affluent buildings, dwindling into dark decay.
Streetlamps flickered, and shadows held shapes that urged him on. His leg screamed with every step. His vision blurred, doubling and playing tricks on him.
He vomited again. Bent over in an alley, retching until nothing came up but bile. His head pulsed with a painful heartbeat. The world tilted sideways, and he grabbed a brick wall to keep from falling.
“Jesus, what happened to you?”
He stumbled, clutching the money at his back as a group of shadowy figures approached. Brick buildings sagged with age, and darkly lit windows flickered overhead. Somewhere, music played, tinny and distant.
He couldn’t tell how many there were. Three, maybe four.
“Stay back.” His voice was gravel, scraping like knives over slate.
“Oi, love—”
“Don’t come any closer!” he snapped, stumbling as he tried to stand upright.
They were women, but they outnumbered him. “You okay there, love? You’re bleeding pretty bad.”
“Don’t—” His voice cracked when his back hit the wall. “Don’t touch me.”
Two stayed back as one stepped closer. “Easy, now, love. I ain’t gonna hurt you.” Her thick Cockney accent wore the rough traces of smoke and harder things. “What do you got there?”
“I said stay away!”
“Poor thing’s hurt.”
The other women were circling. Closing in. He was trapped.