Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 230(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Hi, guys, I noticed you been following me all day.” The look on their faces is priceless. The one in the passenger seat is already on the phone. He holds it away from his ear, Linc is screaming so loud I can hear him from outside the driver’s door. “Why don't you let me take that?” I say, holding out my palm for him to hand me the phone.
“Hey, sweetie,” I coo into the phone, while he is still cussing at the top of his lungs. He goes quiet when he hears me.
“Kitten, I only had them following you ’cause I want to make sure you’re safe,” he pleads.
“Safe, huh? We had a deal, Linc. I don't like this, it makes me feel like you don't trust me,” I protest, winking at the guy in the passenger seat, who responds with an ear-to-ear smile.
“I swear, Kitten, that is not it at all, I just want you safe,” he replies, empathy in his tone.
“Well, I can't have Larry, Moe, and Curly here following me all day. I mean shit, they stand out like a sore thumb, so I hope you have Triple A.” My voice takes a sharp dip.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Linc asks. I pull out the gun and all three men scream and duck.
“I'm not gonna shoot you,” I tell the guys, shocked they would think that. “What the hell are you doing?” Linc screams into the phone. I hold the phone in my left hand and aim the gun at the sidewall of the driver’s front tire with my right hand and shoot it. I've never shot a gun before, so the noise and recoil startle me, causing me to stumble in the gravel and fall on my butt. The tire immediately expels air so fast it blows in my face, making me cough. The guys in the car are now hollering louder, the one in the passenger seat opens his door and falls out on the ground. I can see him from under the car, crawling like a scared spider on the ground toward the back of the car. The man in the driver’s seat slowly raises his head up and looks out the driver’s side window.
“Stupid bitch,” he insults with fear in his voice.
I can hear Linc yelling from the phone on the ground, I must have dropped it when I fell. Picking it up I say, “What was that, honey?”
“What the fuck was that?” Linc hollers, but I don't answer him.
“You’re gonna need a tire, driver’s front to be exact.” Then pointing the gun at the driver, I hand him the phone and say, “Sorry about this, guys.” He takes the phone but then stops and turns my hand over. “You’re bleeding.” I look at my hand and then glance around and see broken glass on the ground where I had landed.
“It's just from that glass,” I explain, pointing at it. “I gotta go,” I say, backing up with my gun trained on the car.
“You better run really far, little girl,” I hear him yell, as I open the door to my truck. Putting the gun in the glove box, I back down to the next parallel road and then head to the main road.
I only have twenty minutes now to get over to the old tire factory. I grab some napkins out of the console of the truck and wrap them around my bleeding hand as I speed toward the area that used to be known as Industrial Park. There used to be several factories here years ago, but they have all shut down now. The companies either moved their work overseas or just went out of business. It’s a secluded area, the only thing going on around here anymore is illegal drug deals and homeless people looking for somewhere to sleep. Turning down Bentley Street, I pull into the parking lot of the old tire factory. At the end of the lot, I spot a black SUV with dark tinted windows, behind it sits a black Mercedes that also has darkened windows. The parking lot is a bit of a challenge to maneuver through, it is covered in potholes and loose chunks of broken asphalt that stick up out of the lot, just waiting to puncture a tire. Pulling up in front of the SUV, I grab my phone before getting out. I look up at the old factory, it is much larger when you’re this close up. A stocky bald gentleman in a dark suit and dark sunglasses gets out of the SUV. He looks like he is talking into a mic attached to the lapel of his jacket.
“Good afternoon,” he says, walking up to me, his posture and tone pleasant. “I presume you are Miss Field?” the gentleman asks with his hands cupped together at his waist.