Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Wonder if Nolan would be jealous.
We could have matching mugs?
Tossing the weatherproof tape onto the countertop precedes me reaching for my vibrating phone; however, the sight of three, well-built men dressed in all black coming into view prevents me from answering it.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” I professionally greet while using my peripherals to scour the area for the closest potential weapon. “How may I help you?”
“We’re looking for someone,” informs the buzz shaved male in front as the other two move into what appears to be a flanking position. “Female.”
“Strip club’s on the outskirts of town due to zoning laws.” Inching the adjustable wrench into my possession slyly occurs. “Follow the main road out of here for about five miles. Can’t miss it.”
“Humor.” He removes a phone from his pants pocket unphased. “Unusual.”
So is his robotic response.
“Do you know the whereabouts of this woman?” questions the raspy voiced older man at the same time he displays a picture of my fiancée for me to view. “She might respond to the name Brittany or Bethany or Bunny.”
Does she have other names?
Are those the ones she tried to hide herself under that that prick somehow discovered?
Crashed?
Burned?
“No,” leaves me without emotion prior to forcefully gripping the object.
Which is a lie.
Of course, I know exactly where she is.
Nolan and I both do.
And we were both fucking against it.
Unfortunately, after an ugly, Grand Prix level of collision, we were forced to accept defeat.
Bunny went to hang out with Posie, and I agreed to stay here.
Work.
Winter storm prep between customers.
Remain close to my cell in case she needed something or someone.
Shit.
Was that her calling?!
“She’s pregnant.” The trespasser searches my stare for a response during his henchman’s repositioning. “And missing.”
“Unfortunate.”
“For someone.” His head tilts slightly to the side. “That’s why we’ve been hired to retrieve her.”
“Exciting,” slips free in the same monotone of my other replies.
“I’m a specialist in the field.”
“Congratulations.”
“My team has a perfect track record.”
“Records can be broken.”
“Mine won’t.” The interrogator turns the device back towards him, swipes, and offers me a new photo to stare at. “Do you know the whereabouts of this man?”
Not exactly.
Last thing I remember is him falling over a cliff to make some animals a wonderful winter buffet.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, vultures.
It takes every ounce of energy inside me to pump the snarky brakes rather than the accelerator. “No.”
“He may have introduced himself as Mr. McAdams or Brad if he were attempting to be less formal.” Hard eye contact is maintained. “He’s her husband.”
This time there’s not stopping myself from snarling, “He. Is. Not. Her husband.”
Victory isn’t seen in his expression despite being heard in his tone, “I thought that might get under your skin, Woods.” Arrogance accompanies him tucking his cell back out of sight. “As I mentioned only moments ago, I’m very good at what I do.”
“You can fuck off and be very good elsewhere.”
“Not until we’ve searched the premises for the target.”
“She’s not a fucking target. She’s a person.”
“To you,” he smugly clarifies. “To me she’s just an assignment to complete.” The unidentified assailant casually motions his head to the man on my left. “Check upstairs.”
“Yes, sir,” his bearded lackey acknowledges prior to turning to execute the order.
The instant a step is taken, I swing the wrench around to strike him in his side; however, it’s me that’s met with pain in mine.
One punch to my kidney arches my back in agony.
Exposes my chest to additional vulnerabilities.
Forces my hold on the tool to vanish, leaving me disarmed.
Defenseless.
Phone man executes a second, hard pound to the space right above my stomach further cutting of my ability to breathe, something he keeps from being possible by insisting with a mere head tip that the younger, shaggy haired male wind an arm around my neck from behind.
Jam his forearm into my throat.
Lock his hands together to prevent me from escaping.
Moving.
“You know what makes me an expert in retrieval, Woods?” He nonchalantly picks up the fallen wrench. “I’m willing to do what others aren’t.” Cockily tossing the tool around in the air is done next. “I’m willing to go where others won’t.” Once the adjustable end is the direction it’s supposed to be, he meets my watering stare. “And I’m willing to get the job done in blood whether it’s mine or someone else’s.” A powerful swing of the object is delivered to my ribcage causing my body to uncontrollably crumble. “Today, it’ll be yours.”
Twitching around is obviously pointless.
Yet I do it anyway.
Throw my weight back.
Attempt to create distance.
Room for air.
A single breath.
He simply tightens his hold a second time while his boss unleashes another strike to the opposite side.
Hisses can’t be had externally but are ceaselessly happening internally.
“Funny thing about people, Woods.” A third blow lands on top of the last. “The more pain they’re in…the more likely they are to tell you what you want to know.” He rotates the damaged location again. “And the closer to death they get…” this slam sends new, excruciating pain racing up my spine, “the more honest they are.” His backhanded whack creates an audible cracking sound. “That was one of your ribs in case you were wondering.”