Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Well I’m doing just fine darling. It’s been a while since you’ve been back in Singer’s Ridge. You here visitin’ your daddy?”
I couldn’t very well lie to her, but I didn’t really want to get into the specifics. “Yep, just in town for a couple days.”
“Well, welcome home,” Maude said. “Counter or booth?”
“Counter.” I said, ordering scrambled eggs with toast to go with my coffee.
After breakfast, I climbed back into my car, without touching base at the hotel, and drove all the way back to my apartment. I had a stack of junk mail but little else to show for the few days I had spent in paradise with Porter.
Trashing the mail on-site, I emptied my suitcase into the laundry bin and began hunting through my closet for the dress I had been thinking of. It was light green and flowy, and it highlighted my hair in a way most colors didn’t. I found it, stripped down to my underwear, and pulled it on, loving the unpretentious feel. I replaced the clothes in my suitcase with fresh ones, unplugged the television and its cords, and made my call to the vet’s office.
I considered making two trips to the car but foolishly decided to try to take it all down at the same time. I hooked the TV under one arm, my fingers just long enough to curl around the bottom. I grabbed the keys and my suitcase with the other hand, thinking I would set the suitcase down in the hallway to lock the apartment.
No sooner had I opened the door, arms loaded down with possessions, than an angry figure thrust me backward. I fell, crashing down on top of the television, twisting my arm and breaking the screen at the same time. I heard glass crack and felt the impact with the floor shock my entire system. Fireworks sparked through my eyes, making it hard to see the man as he stepped into the room and closed the door.
The suitcase landed on top of me, knocking the wind from my lungs. In desperation, I let go of the handle, throwing up the one free hand I could still access to protect myself. He came down on one knee beside me, grabbing me by the shoulder and rolling me onto my stomach. The arm that was still pinned beneath the television wrenched painfully. I screamed, half in frustration, half in fear.
He hit me on the back of the head with something, and my body sagged. The world grew dim, all colors fading into grey. I felt him drag me away from the broken appliance, the carpet scratching my cheeks. Then there was nothing.
Iwoke to the sensation of movement. There was a gentle rocking and a constant hum that reminded me of my own car. I forced my eyes open. When I had passed out, survival had been foremost on my mind. Now that I had regained consciousness, it was my first and only mission. Information was vital to assess the situation—if I couldn’t figure out where I was and what had happened, I couldn’t hope to break free.
A familiar scent aroused my suspicions. I was in my own car, in the back seat, lying down. My wrists were tied with duct tape, and my head pounded. One shoulder was tingling as if I had fallen asleep in a strange position. It felt hot, and the regular pulses of energy radiating from the joint reminded me that I had injured it. I struggled to sit up.
There wasn’t anything keeping me down, no ropes or bindings that forbid me from rising. A stabbing pain in my shoulder released a cry from my lips as I fought against my own limitations. Sitting up, I felt relief wash over me as I recognized the landscape outside the car. We were still in my own neighborhood, just minutes from my apartment. I hadn’t been out that long.
“You’re going to help me,” the driver said, not turning around.
I recognized the voice immediately. “George!” I kicked at the front seat, livid. How dare he attack me? “What the fuck? What happened to knocking on the door and asking me nicely?” Why in God’s name had my own brother decided to kidnap me?
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” George said. “But I’m out of options.”
“I told you I couldn’t get you any drugs,” I reminded him. “Nothing’s changed.”
“You don’t understand.” He stepped on the gas, throwing me back in my seat. “I don’t have a choice.”
I struggled to right myself, grinding my teeth through the pain. “Of course you have a choice.”
He swerved right, taking us down beneath a highway overpass. I was tossed around again, sliding into the door so fast it knocked the wind out of me. I fought to regain my balance when George brought the car to a screeching halt. He reached over to grab something off the seat, then brought it up where I could see it. A gun, black and dull in the afternoon light, fit comfortably into his hand.