Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
I have bigger plans. Mostly they involve finishing this car, selling it for a tidy profit, buying a beater, and getting the hell out of Philadelphia with Elisa by my side. We’ll change our names and start over fresh.
It’s fantasy. I know that. Maybe more like delusion. But it keeps me going. We could get a van and live on the move, never stopping for long, driving for hours under the beautiful clear sky. No limits. No worries.
But instead, I’m here in this garage. My hands are covered in black grease and my hair’s all sweaty. I’m tired, but in a good way. Raf will be annoyed that I stayed out late, but he’ll survive.
I haven’t heard from Luca in two weeks. It’s almost like I can forget that I’m supposed to marry him.
Except that night still lingers. Even when I’m here trying to escape the memories. I don’t need his taste in my mouth anymore. I don’t want the ghost of him between my legs. Better if he just doesn’t exist.
Another stupid fantasy.
There’s no running from my problems.
Not for a girl like me. No matter how badly I wish I could.
There’s a noise nearby. I perk my head up and bang it against the edge of the Spider’s undercarriage. “Oh, motherfucking, dick-licking, cockroach, slimebag fuck—” I roll sideways, rubbing my skull and looking around. “Ernesto, is that you? Did you forget something, tio?”
The garage is dark and empty. I check my watch and realize Ernesto and the rest of them left over an hour ago. Worry fizzes through my stomach like a spark. Nobody should be here, not for another hour at least.
“Hello?” I wait a second, listening. “Hey, is someone here early?”
Total silence. I sigh to myself, shaking my head, and turn back to the car. Probably a mouse scampering around the edges of the garage knocked over nails or something like that. But as I start thinking about what I need to do to finish before the night crew shows up, a shadow appears on the car in front of me.
I have a second to open my mouth before a hand clamps down over my face, the fingers digging into my skin.
I scream into a salty, dirty palm, and someone’s arm wraps tightly around my throat. I gag, the scream cut off, and I try to breathe. Panic rams into me. I struggle, kicking and thrashing, hands scrambling all over for purchase, but whoever has me is big. He lifts me up off my feet.
I’m choking. Oh my god, I’m choking. I can’t breathe. My head’s going crazy and my chest tries to heave, but I can’t get anything in. His muscle flexes tighter, and the bastard’s trying to kill me.
I kick and elbow him, but nothing helps. His breathing is ragged and rough in my ear, and he says nothing. I smell his sweat and cigarettes. His boots are dirty and stained. He’s got on jeans.
Panic sets in. Followed by the desperate animalistic fight-or-flight response from somewhere deep inside my chest.
I lash out, but not at him. I shove my feet against the Spider and push as hard as I can, using my last bit of strength to knock him off balance. The man grunts as he hits the workbench behind us.
The radio teeters and falls, smashing onto the floor.
His grip loosens for a moment, just long enough for my hand to snake out and snatch up my favorite wrench.
I whip it up over my shoulder and smash it straight into his face as hard as I can.
“Fuck!” the man growls, and I feel something wet hit the back of my head. I slam it into him again, and again, and a third time until he finally lets me go, shouting and cursing in pain. I topple to the floor, gagging and gasping, choking and cursing, all my strength gone as I try to clear the spots from my vision. I was ten seconds from passing out. Ten seconds from dying. I crawl away, tears streaming down my face, only thinking about escape and survival.
“Come back here, you fucking bitch,” the man growls and grabs my ankle.
I look back. His nose is flattened. A cut’s bleeding from his eyebrows all down his face. His cheek is bruised and swollen. I don’t recognize him, but I know his type.
Enforcer. Killer. A big man who knows how to end a life.
I kick out and land a blow on his chest, but it’s like pawing at a steel wall. I twist and try to hit him with the wrench again, but he grabs me by the arm and smashes his fist into my face.
My head knocks backwards. The back of my skull bangs into the floor with a dull thud. My ears ring, and I taste blood flowing down my mouth.