Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“What do you want?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Be quiet and just listen. First I want to welcome you to the Wilde Wilde West. That’s Wilde, spelled with an ‘e’. I am your host, Mr. James Archer the Black Arrow Wilde, in the flesh. I’m sure you’re pleased to meet me. Now, I will be in shortly, so sit tight… not that you have a choice. Please make yourself at home.” He snickered, then turned off her speaker as she glared into the camera, hollering and cursing no doubt—but her silent screams fell on deaf ears. He left the control room, locked it, and headed down the long hallway that glowed with motion detection lights. Each step he took gave a bit more illumination until the whole thing was lit in a dull, peaceful yellow glow.
He pushed the down switch on the elevator, stepped inside, then pressed the ‘S’ button. After the short ride, he got off and bypassed the storage rooms full of inventory, memories, weapons, and old things from long ago. He hastened his pace as he approached her cell. After typing in the numerical code, followed by three manual locks, her door slid slowly to the side, clinking and clanking like a prison entrance. Once inside, he was met with a glare. Nostrils flared. Sections of lengthy mane dangled in front of her dark, vibrant eyes like curled jail bars trying to detain a monster. She looked at him through the curtain of her mane. Death in her stare. Oh, she’s ready to fight… It made his dick hard.
He stood a few feet away from her, waiting a little before breaking the silence.
“Let me make this real fucking easy for you to understand. I don’t fuck around. I don’t play around. I don’t waste time. If you say the wrong thing, I’ll kill you. If you do the wrong thing, any more than you already have, I will snatch your throat out of your fucking neck with my bare hands. Do you understand me?”
“…You’re not going to do shit. At least not right now.” He couldn’t help but smirk. She was amusing, if nothing else. “You want somethin’ from me. You can’t get whatever that may be if I’m dead.”
“You know who I am.”
“I don’t know who you are, but I understand the situation. If you wanted to kill me, you’d have done it at the hotel.” She rolled her eyes then closed them, as if needing a rest.
“Let me tell you what I know about you already, and then you’re going to tell me what I don’t know by answering some questions.” He crossed his arms.
She spit at his feet.
He smacked the side of her head, forcing her head to turn ninety degrees. He was careful to not smack her face and bruise her skin. She winced, her gaze on the floor. He could see her lips twisting, her chest rising and falling.
“Do that again and I’ll make you lick it up.” She lifted her head, glaring at him with barren eyes and lo and behold, she followed that with a smile. She smiled as if he’d said the funniest thing ever, but she was trying to suppress a full-on belly laugh. “Honey, my name has already been shared with you, and you already know it anyway because you’ve been researching me.”
“Not until today… or, last night… How long have I been here?”
“Nine hours. Yes, you have. I saw the pictures on your computer. The stick drive. The Google and Onion searches. What I didn’t see were any emails or information to explain why. Probably because you keep your emails under encryption, due to you being a reporter and all… in case your things end up in the wrong hands. I guess today, you could say, your belongings are in the wrong hands.”
“Well, aren’t you a regular ol’ Pink Panther? Where’d you learn how to do that? From playing the ‘Clue’ game?”
He ignored her jab and walked circles around her. “Your name is Honey Brooks. You were born and raised in Los Angeles, California. Your parents were never married.”
“…And your parents were related. Ahhh!”
He snatched the back of her hair and tugged hard. So hard, her eyes slanted. She grimaced in pain. When he released her, he shoved her head forward. He noted her catching sight of his holstered gun, then she drew quiet.
“Your father is dead. Died when you were young. Shot over fifteen times. He was a member of the Eight Tray Gangster Crips. Your mother’s name is Idelle Saber. She’s been married twice. Has four children total, three of which are from other unions, and is a line supervisor. Your three half siblings, Sunday, Kendrick, and Monroe, all live in L.A. You attended the University of Missouri for one year, then transferred to The George Washington University of photojournalism, where you got your degree. Blah, blah, blah, blah.”