Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
He began the slow process of checking every muscle in his body, ensuring he could move his arms and legs. He did so carefully, under cover of the vicious rain. It was coming down in silver sheets. He was partially under the protection of a tree with wide, thick branches, but Lyric was right out in the rain.
“Lights, camera, action,” Chester snapped to Hank and made his move, suddenly straddling Lyric’s body. “Wake up, bitch. You’re the main event. Your boyfriend gets to watch as we all fuck your brains out.” He slapped her hard across the face.
Keys rolled to his right just as Bruin reared back to kick his ribs. Bruin was so intent on caving in Keys’ ribs that he didn’t even see his prisoner explode into action. Keys caught the boot in midair, twisted hard, bringing Bruin down. In one motion, he snapped his neck. His fist swept down, extracted the knife from the dead man’s belt and was on Albert before anyone had the least idea Bruin was down or Keys was out of his cuffs and on the attack.
Keys swept the knife across each of Albert’s inner thighs, up the body in a figure-eight pattern, cutting every artery, and then he rolled across the short distance to come up behind Hank, who was filming Chester as he ripped at Lyric’s clothing, alternating between slapping her face and her exposed breasts, playing to the camera.
Keys slammed the blade into the back of Hank’s neck, severing the spinal cord, shoved the body aside as it began to crumple toward the ground and kicked Chester in the head, driving him off Lyric. He’d killed three men in under eight seconds. He knew because he kept track of that shit in his head.
Straight up killers had to know how long it took them to get the job done. He’d been fast and accurate and taken out three of the five men. Chester let out a roar and rolled, coming to his feet, pulling a knife. Keys didn’t hesitate. He’d never worried about how big or small a target was, just getting the job done. He slapped Chester’s arm away and slammed his knife into the man’s throat, diving away from Lyric toward the protection of the large tree he’d first been close to.
Shots spat into the leaves all around him. Slight miscalculation. Merrit had a gun. He fired several rounds as he ran around the large truck to put it between himself and Keys. Keys rolled closer to the tree, hoping for cover, but there wasn’t much. It was only a matter of time before the asshole would nail him.
Movement caught his eye. Chester had removed Lyric’s cuffs, but he hadn’t massaged her arms. She had to be in hell right now. More than once, as a child, he’d dealt with the very thing she was having to do, rub some sensation back into her numb arms and hands while keeping the movement so slow and careful that she wouldn’t be noticed.
To keep Merrit’s attention on him, he rolled again and did a lizard crawl, deliberately zigzagging in the leaves to cause as much noise as possible. When the bullets hit too close for comfort, he made his move back to the tree. Sadly, he’d left the knife in Chester’s throat. It wasn’t like he had a gun or other weapons for long-range fighting. He would have to come up with a plan to get to Merrit. He wasn’t about to leave him alive, even if that meant his own death. The man wasn’t getting to Lyric. No fuckin’ way.
Keys gave Lyric another quick look. Her hand was inside the pocket of her jacket. Chester had managed to shove the garment off her shoulders, where it still clung to her arms.
Knowledge dawned. He swore under his breath. He should have known. Should have expected her to do the exact opposite of what he’d told her to do. Earlier, in the casket, he’d told her not to move. She had obeyed even in the face of rape and a vicious beating. That had lulled him into a false sense of security. He should have been remembering that Lyric had charged into the fray when he’d had five men attacking him with baseball bats outside her shop. That was the Lyric he should have remembered, not the scared, panicked, docile one in the coffin.
He didn’t believe in a god, but he found himself praying, Please don’t take her. Not her. Please don’t let her do this.
She did it. Her eyes met his and she leapt to her feet, a distraction to Merrit so the gun swung to aim at her.
“Keys,” she called as the pair of very sharp scissors came hurtling end over end toward him like a silver missile cutting through the driving rain.