Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
It was hard to think with the blood rushing so loudly in my ears. “Quiet, so you can kill me?”
He gave me a look like this was a preposterous question. “I could have killed you days ago.” His tone was resigned. “I should have.”
The van took a turn, and I fell into him, my shoulder knocking against his. Instantly, I put my handcuffed hands on him to push upright and away.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I told you, people don’t say no to me.” His face morphed into the monster I’d seen back in the Opulent hotel room. “But I like a challenge. Eventually, I’ll get what I want from you.”
I was terrified to ask it. “Which is?”
He grabbed me roughly, so I was immobile and his mouth was right by my ear. “For you to say yes.”
Then his tongue drew a line across my skin from the spot where my shoulder joined my neck, all the way up to my ear. My whole body convulsed.
“No! No, that won’t happen.”
I had to get away.
I’d need a distraction and a ton of luck, too. But when I glanced around the van, my options were limited. What could I use to draw their attention?
There had been a dancer in my senior recital who’d had exercise-induced asthma. Often, she’d struggled to complete her solo without running for her inhaler, gasping for breath the whole way.
I did my best now to mimic the shallow, strained noises she’d made, letting it build until I was out of breath. My heavy rasps made it sound like I was in serious trouble.
“Laurel?” Concern skidded across Frey’s face. He secured his gun by passing it to another man, freeing his hands so he could loosen a strap on my vest, like he thought that was the problem.
I huffed air in and out, making a production, but began to worry this plan wasn’t going to work. I was getting lightheaded and there wasn’t a gun within reach. Plus, my hands were still handcuffed.
“Is she having an asthma attack?” one of the men asked. “Get her to slow her breathing. Make her lie down.”
I didn’t resist as Frey eased me down onto my back on the uneven, filthy floor, forcing my bound hands up overhead so my arms were out of the way. I was too focused on keeping up the act to fight him, anyway.
My throat burned. My vision blurred as I peered up at the men evaluating me. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep up the labored, heaving breaths, when both my luck and the van turned.
The man I’d punched in the throat was wounded and still in pain, so he wasn’t overly concerned with the gun he’d set beside himself. It skated a foot in my direction and then picked up momentum as it skittered along. Frey was busy tugging at the straps of my vest and didn’t notice the way I subtly reached for it.
It slid the last crucial inch, bringing it close enough I could get it in my hands.
I bolted upright, the gun so much heavier than I expected, and I had to use both hands to support it as I aimed at Frey’s face. Everyone who was able drew their weapon—except for Frey. All he did was hold his hand out toward me.
His tone was the same as a parent demanding a child return the toy they weren’t allowed to play with. “Give me that.”
“I can give you the bullets inside,” I said. “Let me go.”
He considered my request, his face giving nothing away.
“All right.” He motioned to the man closest to the back. “Open the doors.”
The man complied. The empty road was rural and unlit, but the moon was bright enough to see the pavement . . . which was flying by. We were going far too fast for me to jump.
“Make the driver stop.”
“No.”
I stared at him with disbelief. Did he not see the exceptionally scary-looking gun in my hands?
“That gun has a powerful kick,” he added. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you try anything.”
Even if I shot him, I wouldn’t last another five seconds. The other men in the van couldn’t care less about me. In fact, I suspected if Frey went down, they’d be thrilled to get rid of me.
But I couldn’t threaten them with the gun if they didn’t believe I’d use it.
I aimed at the ceiling, pulled the trigger, and unleashed chaos.
The plan had been to fire a single shot, but the gun was an automatic, and I fired off five rounds before I released the trigger. As promised, the recoil was violent and it made me swing wildly, uncontrolled.
The first shot lodged in the ceiling. The next few ricocheted off the metal walls surrounding us, drawing panic and a cry of pain from one of the men. The last few went straight out the back through the open doors.