Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Is ... is uh, everything okay?” the man asks, stepping closer to me.
The man, holding me with one, big beefy hand, pulls his jacket open to show a gun. “You keep walking, boy, or I’ll blow your brains out over this sidewalk.”
The young man’s eyes widen, and he starts walking.
“Coward!” I screech as I’m dragged to the car and shoved inside.
I see people starting to walk over from the other side of the road, but none of them make it to the car in time before it drives off.
I’m in the back with two, very big, very angry men, gripping me so hard there is no chance of escape, none whatsoever. I start to panic, because this situation just became very, very dangerous. These men aren’t messing around, that’s apparent, which means I’m in a very dire situation right now.
And nobody knows where I am.
Chantelle isn’t even going to figure out I’m gone until morning.
Oh, God.
This is bad.
Really bad.
“I’m not Yolanda,” I try again, pathetically.
A gun is pressed to my temple, and my lip starts to tremble. Fear, unlike anything I’ve ever felt, rips through my body.
She’s ruined my life.
She’s taken so much from me.
And now, my sister is going to be the reason I die.
~*~*~*~
MASON
All fucking night.
Searched for her all fucking night.
Not a sign of her.
Nobody was at Chantelle’s house, and nobody had been back to my house.
I even went past Theresa’s house. Yolanda’s house. Nothing.
There is no sign of her.
Fucking wild, Malakai and I go back to Chantelle’s house to see if she’s home yet. If anyone knows where Saskia is, it’ll be her.
It’s only about six in the morning, but we roll right up and bang on her front door, pounding and pounding, calling out her name. She answers after about five minutes, sleepy, mascara running down her cheeks, looking like she had a big fucking night.
Hope sparks in my chest.
Maybe they went out and Saskia is here. Chantelle doesn’t look worried, which gives me a small sunshine of hope.
“She doesn’t want to see you,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. “So leave.”
“So, she’s here?”
Chantelle stares at me, and then blinks. “I ...”
She hesitates. For a split second. And every ounce of hope I had, fades. She doesn’t know if she’s here. How the fuck could she not know if she’s here or not?
“Is. She. Here?” I growl.
“Keep your shirt on. We went out last night, but she left earlier than me and caught a cab home. I didn’t check when I got home, because, well, why would I?”
“Let me in, now,” I demand, stepping closer.
“Whoa there, buddy, if she doesn’t want to see you, she doesn’t want to see you. I’m not going to go against her ...”
“You listen to me, woman,” I hiss, leaning in close. “There are bad men out there, fuckin’ bad men lookin’ for her sister. Who do you think looks like her sister? I have Yolanda, which means if they find someone, it’s Saskia. They find her, she’s in deep shit. I’m not here because of what went down, I’m here to make sure she’s okay.”
Chantelle’s eyes widen. “Shit.”
She steps out of the way and we move into the house. She points to the bedroom door that Saskia should be behind, and I fucking cross my fingers. I actually cross my fingers. I don’t care if I open that door and she loses her shit at me, telling me she hates me and never to come back, I don’t care because I’ll know she’s okay and I can keep her safe.
I grab the door handle and twist it, taking a breath and pushing it open.
The bed is empty.
My eyes dart around the room, looking for any trace of her, but no one is in there. I spin around. “Bathroom, where is it?”
Chantelle rushes down the hall and pushes the bathroom door open, then steps out, shaking her head, the fear real in her eyes. “She’s not here. Oh, God. How did I not know she wasn’t here?”
My first instinct is to throttle her, but that’s not a fair reaction. The girl isn’t responsible for Saskia, and she’s certainly not responsible for checking on her every night before she goes to bed. It isn’t her fault.
“Not your fault,” I say, and the heaviness in my chest very nearly brings me to my fucking knees.
My girl is gone.
And I have no fucking idea where she is, or what’s happening to her.
All because of me and my stupid fucking mouth.
I should have given her a chance, should have let her talk, instead I went off halfcocked and caused all of this to happen.
My stupid fucking pride got in the way, and now she’s in danger.
Big time.
~24~
SASKIA
My wrists burn. They’ve tied me so tight I can’t even twist them side to side in some pathetic attempt at getting away. Even if I did get out, I’ve got nowhere to go; I don’t even know where I am. Some strange house, locked in a damned basement, with literally no idea how to get out. I have no idea what they’re going to do with me, but one thing is clear—it doesn’t matter how much I tell them I’m not Yolanda, they don’t believe me.