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)
Naming him that…relating him to my fiancé’s favorite films…makes me feel less alone.
Less helpless.
And fuck, do I feel helpless.
Even more so with nothing more than my fingernail to frantically scribble across own skin on top of the faded ink that’s already there.
“Affirmative,” repeats Turdetto in the one tone of voice he seems to possess.
Gotta give it to the guy.
Nothing seems to bother him.
Not the weather.
Not sleeplessness.
And damn sure not being yelled at by the woman paying him outrageous amounts of money to relocate me back to Florida.
“There are no more reports or indications on the radar of additional ice forecasted; however, temperatures are not expected to increase enough to melt what has made it to the terrain, sir.”
I wonder who Turdetto answers to.
Is he part of a large company?
Something massive?
Global?
Is it something small we could set on fire and have Zero or Garcia financially bankrupt with a bit of assistance from me?
My eyes briefly close again during the next stretch of conversational silence.
I wonder will they be able to find me.
I wonder if there’s some weird computer trick where Zero hacked into someone’s phone, used their camera to spot me in the background, and then traced my whereabouts from there through a series of building security cams because let’s face it.
We don’t have traffic cams here.
We barely have the ones meant to scare off thieves.
It sounds like something totally insane and unreal and movie magic based, yet if I had to assess that data, I would put it in the more likely than not likely category.
The auditing success odds would definitely be in Zero’s favor.
Guy’s scary good with a computer.
“Main roads have been treated – leading in and out of the town – but due to the target’s unexpected high-profile nature here, I do not believe they are a viable exit strategy.”
It’s impossible not to slightly smirk.
Never expected to have that type of title.
At least not on my own.
“I do believe defensive measures have been taken – or will be taken – to prevent us from using those routes.”
One thumb lovingly strokes my lower stomach as hope does its best to spread throughout my system.
Guess that’s the beauty of putting down roots in a small town like this.
They’re prepared to do whatever it takes to protect their own.
Another long lull precedes a contemplative hum. “Yes. I do believe there is enough space for a chopper to land or at the very least hover for a ladder to aid in an extraction of the target.”
Dread promptly replaces the previous warmth.
“Yes, I do believe that I can get the target to the agreed upon secondary location while the others wait for an open opportunity to escort the clients out of the situation, thereby fulfilling our immediate contractual obligation as well as extending services that will require additional fees.”
Of course.
Why wouldn’t the people the McCreepies hire be just as fucking shady and greedy as they are?
“Affirmative.” Content takes over his tone. “Standing by.”
Turdetto doesn’t speak again, nor does he linger near my wall any longer.
Once more completely alone, I curl into a tighter ball, fighting shivers and anxiously resume mentally constructing a plan to get the hell out of here.
There’s no fucking way I’m getting on that helicopter alive.
None.
I don’t care if that means they have to shoot me or I have to shoot myself, I am not and will not leave this town breathing.
Because if I do?
I know I’ll never make it back.
I’ll end up chained to a luxury bed in some million-dollar home’s basement, waiting to give birth, waiting to give a literal sacrifice to the Boogieman’s bitch, only to then be put down like an innocent inmate no one cared to answer the pardon call for.
No.
Leaving Death Canyon is not an option.
And neither is fighting to stay.
It’s the only choice.
Scenarios swiftly start stacking themselves in the front of my mind, striving to make it in the viable section rather than the implausible one. Considerations such as risk of injury to our baby or losing him/her all together rapidly keep ideas moving to the latter list instead of the former.
Weighing what ifs ceaselessly continues until the last voice I expected to hear pierces through the thick fog of worry. “Why would you keep firewood way out here?!”
Jolene?
No.
That’s not…possible.
This is clearly a dehydration hallucination.
“Why would you put a big, beautiful, fancy fuckin’ fireplace in the office, but keep the firewood on the other side of Kingdom Come?”
Or…or…it isn’t!
She sleeps in the office sometimes!
On the fold out couch!
When she’s tired or the weather is too bad to go back to Crystal Waters!
Godhelpme, I never thought I’d be so excited to see – or hear – my future husband’s ex-girlfriend.
How did they miss her when sweeping the property?
Wait.
Why do I care?!
She’s fucking here!
She can fucking help!
“Jolene?” I cautiously call out, needing to verify before exposing myself.