Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I take off at a good pace as Aria scrambles to catch up, having to move her legs twice as fast to keep up with just one of my strides. And if I weren’t so hell-bent on ending this woman’s life, I might even find it amusing.
We walk for an hour with no end in sight, but the eerie echo of the prison’s alarms continues wailing through the long tunnels. There’s no denying it, though, the sound isn’t quite as obnoxious as it was before, giving me just a little peace to be able to think.
I don’t know what will happen from here.
It’s always been my plan to break out of Hartley Creek Penitentiary. I’ve been working on it for the past two years, but I didn’t expect it to come so soon, and I sure as fuck didn’t anticipate it to be with none other than my little menace.
Once the guards regain control of the prison, headcounts will be done. They’ll search for survivors, and when they realize Aria Ashford is missing, they’ll know I’ve taken her.
I’ll be the world’s most dangerous fugitive. My face will be splashed across the front of every newspaper, television screen, and telephone post. There will be no escaping this. And while I might be the only person who’s escaped today, there will be bodies unaccounted for, and that might just be my saving grace. They will assume anybody unaccounted for escaped alongside me, thinning out law enforcement resources.
That fucker in the crawl space who attacked Aria will be left to rot there, at least until his body begins to decay and the smell becomes too much to avoid an internal investigation. Only then will they realize that he hasn’t escaped with me, but by then, I’ll be long gone.
Aria huffs and puffs beside me, clearly not one who spends her days working on her fitness, but I’ve got some bad news for her. If she’s already out of breath, then the next few days are not going to be kind to her. Assuming I keep her around that long. But that’s up to her. I’m not ending her until I get the answers I’m looking for, and only then will I put her out of her misery and take revenge for her pitiful betrayal. If she were smart, she’d drag this out as long as possible, but on the contrary, she might as well tell me what I need to hear so I can hurry up and put her out of her misery. We both know how this ends. There are no ifs, whats, or buts about it.
An hour turns into three without a single word passing between us. It’s peaceful. Apart from the sound of our footsteps in the old, dried-up sewer, it’s the most silence I’ve experienced in seven years. Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I’ve had more than my fair share of time spent in solitude. Look at a guard wrong, and you’re fucked. Forty-eight hours spent in solitude to think about your actions, but for me, it’s really not so bad. I enjoy the peace. It allows me a chance to reflect, plot, and plan, and time like that is more than valuable when planning an escape.
As for what happens next, I’ve got no fucking idea.
Every bit of planning I’d done before is out the window. I’m on my own, but I’m not worried. I’ll roll with the hits as they come, and there will be hits. Plenty of them. But if I keep myself five steps ahead, nobody can touch me.
Aria suddenly gasps beside me, her eyes going wide. My head whips down, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Has she rolled an ankle? Been bitten by something? “What’s wrong?” I demand, already trying to figure out how to solve whatever problem she hits me with. Rolled ankle? Tough break. Shake it off and keep walking. Snake or spider bite that infects her whole body, rendering her legs useless? Sure, it’ll suck, but I’m not opposed to carrying her out of here, healing her up, getting my answers, and then taking her out. I didn’t come this far to have my revenge ripped away by nothing more than a mere spider.
Aria shakes her head. “Nothing, it’s just . . . It just occurred to me why you call the psycho organ harvester, Doc,” she murmurs, keeping her gaze locked on the uneven ground before her. “Because he slices and dices people. Like a surgeon.”
Are you fucking kidding me?
I don’t bother to respond, just shake my head as frustration burns through my veins.
“What does he even do with those organs anyway?” she muses, still talking as her lips twist into an uneasy cringe, and a visible shiver tracks across her body. “Is he . . . no! Is he eating them? Like going full cannibal on their ass?”