Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I ignored his offer and moved past him, my purse over my shoulder. Instead of wearing stiletto heels, I wore wedged heels, so when we hit the cobblestone street, I wouldn’t have to walk like I was in a field of land mines.
But the second I felt the fresh air outside, I felt worse. I would have taken a taxi if there had been any on that street.
“Come on, this way.” He guided me around the building and down a side street. There was a gelato place still open, and across from that were a couple of cafés that had been closed for hours.
I felt weak and nauseated . . . and then downright confused. “I do not feel well.”
He continued to walk beside me. “Not much farther.”
I wasn’t even sure what taxi hub he was referring to. I came to a stop and pulled out my phone. “Just gonna order a ride.” It usually took longer than flagging down a cab and it was more expensive, but my body was not cooperating.
Maybe I did have too much to drink. Maybe in my anger and nervousness, I’d lost count of my drinks.
“I’ll wait with you.”
I leaned against the wall and continued to work the app, trying to order the ride, but the more I went through the steps, the more confused I became.
Something was not right.
My heart suddenly started to race in a way it never had before—like there was something in my system that was making my heart work to get it out.
Pierre pulled out his phone and made a call. His voice was hard to hear from where he stood. “That alley around the corner.”
It didn’t sound like he’d just ordered a ride. It didn’t sound like he’d talked to a friend either.
I was fucked, wasn’t I?
My mind started to slip further, my heart raced like it was about to explode, and I should have called the police, but I literally couldn’t think. So I did something that made no sense. I texted Constantine. 112.
He’d blocked my number, but I still texted him the number to indicate an emergency anyway. I tried to type in the actual number to call, but then I couldn’t feel my thumbs. And then the phone was taken out of my hand.
“Yeah, she’s just had too much to drink,” Pierre said to a passerby. “Just waiting for a ride.”
The people continued on, unaware that I was slowly losing all my motor functions. I was exhausted, but my body was also unresponsive.
What the fuck did this asshole give me?
Sometime later, a black van pulled up. The side panel slid open, and two guys got out and came toward me. “She looks healthy.”
“Get her in the car and check her blood type,” Pierre said.
What in the actual fuck?
Each guy hooked a hand underneath one of my arms and dragged me up.
In a burst of rage, I was able to shove one aside and scream. Scream bloody fucking murder.
The guy clamped a hand over my mouth and nose, so I was silenced and smothered.
Pierre joined in, grabbing me by the legs to help me into the van.
“Did you give her enough?” one guy asked.
“Yeah,” Pierre said as he walked backward toward the van. “Maybe she weighs more than I thought.”
When they got close to the van, I found another surge of strength and tried to free myself from their grasp, but all I did was tumble slightly and almost hit the ground. My dress was forced up to my waist, my thong was exposed, but my bare ass on the street was the least of my problems right now.
Headlights suddenly came toward us down the small alleyway.
“Fuck, hurry,” Pierre said. “Just throw her in.”
I tried to fight again, but whatever poison was in my body had reached critical levels, and I couldn’t do a damn thing.
Another pair of headlights came from the opposite direction. They grew closer and closer, a beam of light from both directions.
Oh, thank god. Surely no one would see what was happening and just leave me there.
The guys tried to shove me into the van, but only half my body made it. My head hit the edge of the van, and then my knees smacked into the cobblestones. One of the guys stepped on my wrist, and all I could do was groan, not even scream.
Doors slammed. The headlights stopped moving.
“Oh, we’re fucked,” Pierre said. “Guns, quick.”
I tried to crawl away from the van, but all I could do was drag myself an inch or two. Then I jerked when I heard gunshots, a machine gun firing a hundred rounds into the air in just a couple seconds.
I pulled myself away again, my broken body useless, and then I saw the silhouette of men coming near. I hoped they were friends instead of foes, because I couldn’t do shit right now. Not even write my own name.