Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
His phone dinged with an incoming text from Cami.
Guy is up and pissed. He just went after Cyrus. Please help him.
Rex gripped the wheel, punching on the accelerator. He planned to do just that. But first, he’d have to find Cyrus, because the enraged man after him had just been beaten and humiliated by a child. Pissed probably didn’t describe the half of it.
Run, Cyrus. Hide.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cyrus crashed through the forest, running as if his life depended on it, because it did. Adrenaline spurred him forward, even though his lungs ached and his legs burned. He’d made it out of that room. He could hardly believe his plan had gone so perfectly, just the way he’d pictured it in his head over and over again, adjusting each movement as he considered and reconsidered the nose picker’s responses.
The cabin hadn’t even been locked. He’d thrown the door open and raced out into the trees.
He couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Abdullah about this.
If he got the chance.
Because first, he needed to find his way out of this forest and get to the police.
He ducked behind a tree and plastered his spine to it as he listened. He was sure the nose picker would be after him soon. If he could have, he’d have locked him in that room, but he hadn’t been able to figure out a way he could successfully attack him without his body going down right in front of the door. And he didn’t have the time or the strength to move him.
And so, he’d decided the best plan was simply to run.
Cyrus froze as he heard the distant noise of what he thought might be a door crashing open, and then the sound of the man yelling his name. “Fuck,” Cyrus whispered.
He started moving again, this time with less speed and more purpose. The rush of water was louder out here, and he thought it sounded like a waterfall. He moved away from the roar, scared of accidentally falling into a river that would then sweep him over the falls.
Other than away from the waterfall, there was no clear direction to go, and so Cyrus simply ran through the trees and over the fallen logs and small rocks, a carpet of pine needles cushioning his steps. His heart was beating so fast, and as the forest grew dimmer and denser, the sense of victory turned to fear.
He was trying to escape as quietly as he could, but still he heard the man lumbering after him, calling his name angrily. He hears me. It was difficult to be quiet, though, and run as fast as he needed to create distance.
Cyrus stopped, intent on heading away. If he could just stay far enough ahead, maybe he’d come upon a hiding place. But it sounded like the man’s footsteps were coming from every direction, his voice echoey, and so Cyrus stood there, breathing hard, frozen with indecision.
Move!
Cyrus rounded a tree and crept forward, much more slowly now, listening before every step, terrified the man was going to jump out and attack him. Maybe he got ahead somehow. Maybe he knew a shortcut.
He saw a tree shake up ahead as though someone was right behind it, and he turned, ducking down behind a rock and holding his hands over his mouth so as to muffle his quickened breaths. He heard more rustling from that direction, and now the man had stopped calling his name. He was close, though. Cyrus knew he was.
Move!
Cyrus stood and bolted from behind the rock, looking over his shoulder as he sprinted forward, rounding a tree and skidding to the very edge of a basin, tiny rocks flying into empty air, bouncing off ledges and then plunging to the jagged rocks far below. He yelled, hurling himself back and landing on his butt on the dirt.
His heart pounded as he turned his head one way and then the other, surveilling the landscape and trying desperately to figure out which way to go. His muscles locked with indecision, air wheezing from his lungs. He’d run right into an area of sharp drops, and it seemed that the only way out was to reverse course.
But then he ran right into the nose picker.
Cyrus clamored to his feet just as the man busted through the trees.
“There you are, you little shit.” The guy looked murderous as he took a gun out of his waistband and pointed it toward Cyrus. Blood was streaming down the man’s face, the eye where Cyrus had stabbed him swollen and bloody.
Cyrus’s heart filled his throat so that he almost gagged, his gaze darting around as he looked for a way out of this he hadn’t yet seen. His only hope was to get around the furious man with the gun, and he couldn’t figure out a way to make that happen.