Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Then you’re lucky you have me to provide copious amounts of calming blowjobs,” I say and kiss his neck. “You can handle this, Simon.”
He nods once. “I know I can, and it feels a lot easier with you on my arm. I’m glad you didn’t go to your father’s place.”
“I’m glad too.”
We stay like that for a while, tangled up and happy, until his phone buzzes and the real world intrudes again. He takes the call and I find myself drifting out into the hallway to give him a little privacy. There’s a big window down near the emergency staircase overlooking the parking lot and I stand there staring outside as I give my dad a call.
“Hey, Em,” Dad says, answering on the third ring. It’s a little past nine at night, but I knew he’d be awake. Dad was never much of a sleeper. “How’s it going?”
“Just wanted to check in on you and make sure everything was fine.”
“Everything’s good,” he grunts and I hear him adjust the TV in the background. It sounds like he’s watching some kind of Western. “Cashed another check this morning. Tell that husband of yours to cool it with the payments.”
“Don’t worry about Simon. He can afford it.”
Dad blows out a long breath. “Never thought I’d get taken care of by some strange guy in my old age.”
“He’s not a strange guy, Dad. He’s my husband and your son-in-law.”
“Good point. Guess that’s marginally better.”
I chat with my dad for a while. I don’t think he’s aware of the guards watching over him, which is good. He doesn’t go out all that much, which makes their job a lot easier, and I can’t bring myself to tell him what’s going on. He’s been through enough—I don’t want him to worry even more.
“Alright, you listen up, this old man needs to head to bed now. I don’t remember the last time we talked on the phone for more than a couple minutes.”
“That’s because you’re always trying to rush me off.” I smile to myself and lean against the window frame. Down below in the parking lot, three dark SUVs whip around a corner. Those assholes are driving way too fast. They slam on brakes and take up three spots toward the back under a big tree away from the street light. Dickheads, I hope there aren’t any rooms available for them.
But then my heart starts to race. Men pile out of the SUVs, and none of them have luggage. They’re all big, wearing dark, baggy clothes, and surgical masks, like they’re trying to conceal their identities.
“Okay, talk to you later,” I say to my dad and hang up the phone in the middle of him saying something. I’m cold all over and my hands are sweating. I turn and sprint back to the room and yank at the handle, cursing when I realize I’m locked out.
I bang and shout. “Simon, open up. Simon!”
He answers in a towel. “Fuck, baby, what’s going—”
“Men are coming,” I say breathlessly and shove him back into the room. “Get dressed. We have to run.”
Chapter 43
Simon
We take the emergency staircase. My hair is still wet from that fucking shower. I pause at the top, holding onto Emily’s hand to stop her from barreling forward, and put a finger to my lips to keep her silent. Once I’m sure there’s nobody else on the steps, we start to descend.
But not too fast. If we go too fast and one of us trips, we both go down and we make a whole lot of noise, and then those fuckers come and they kill us. We go at a moderate pace, and I’m cursing myself silently for taking a room on the fourth fucking floor the whole way down, and Emily looks terrified. I can’t blame her.
We hit the second-floor landing when I hear a door down below slam open and voices echo up the concrete.
“…the fucking worst job. That cock-sucking prick Joey thinks he knows how to run a fucking crew, but I swear, we’re gonna catch that Bianco dickhead and kill him first, yeah?”
“Sure, John, whatever you say.”
I open the second-floor door as silently as I can, but unfortunately the ancient push latch makes a sound like dinner plates smashing on a tile floor, and then I’m dragging Emily inside.
She tries to keep running, but I yank her back against the wall and shove a hand over her mouth. She’s staring at me with eyes like a dying deer, oozing panic and fear. “Don’t move,” I whisper. “And don’t watch.”
The two thugs come up after me a second later. Neither of them bothers looking to the left, since that’s the wall. I’m on the first one before they know what’s happening, my knife driving into his neck as I turn, drop to a knee, and shoot the other guy in the skull, aiming up so his brains and blood and bits of his skull splatter toward the ceiling and don’t get all over me. His friend, probably the nice gentleman named John, collapses to the floor and chokes on his own blood.