Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I was pretty sure I could put a bullet in the bodies of everyone who dared to put their hands on her, to give her even a moment of fear.
It wasn’t until I could almost see the old bike shop that I realized that I had nowhere to hide the gun. Surely, they wouldn’t let me take my purse, right? And the linen pants were too thin for me to tuck it into my waistband like I saw in the movies.
Hitting the brakes, I turned around, feeling a wave of relief when I saw a balled up suit jacket in the backseat of the car.
Would I look ridiculous?
Yes, of course.
But would it hide the bulge of a gun?
Also, yes.
Yanking off my seatbelt, I grabbed the jacket, pulling it on, and hiding the gun in an interestingly placed pocket on the inside, a pocket that didn’t seem to exist in normal jackets, and one that was suspiciously the perfect size for said gun I shoved in there.
Apparently, mafia guys even had special tailoring done to their suits to help them hold more weapons on them.
You learn something new every day, I guess.
Finished with that, I took a steadying breath.
Checking the time, I still had another ten minutes, but I wasn’t going to waste them.
Moving away from the curb, I kept going in the direction of the garage, ignoring the way my hands were slippery on the wheel, and my heart was lodged in my throat, hammering so hard I felt sick.
This was for my mom.
I could do anything for her.
Even park the car, cut the engine, leave my purse with my phone, climb out, and walk toward the man standing at the side of the building.
My vision suddenly flashed back.
To that day at the restaurant.
To the door opening.
To the two men walking in.
Then the guns, the bullets, the pain.
I hadn’t been able to recall their faces before, anything other than vague descriptions of height and weight. But as my gaze landed on this guy, there was no question. He was one of them. And not just any of them. The one who’d shot me.
The evil glint in his eye only confirmed that.
“Didn’t think you’d be fucking stupid enough to come.”
Then his arms were shooting out, grabbing me, then yanking me down the alley with him.
I saw the side door, wondered if I should reach for the gun now, shoot him, then go save my mom.
But there was no way to know if someone was inside with her right then, holding a gun to her, ready to kill her at the first sign of trouble.
I couldn’t take that chance.
So I let this man press bruises into my skin as he dragged me through the door, then shoved me so hard that it was impossible to right myself.
I was falling.
Crashing down on all fours on the unforgiving cement floor.
The pain ratcheted up my arms and down legs at the impact, my shoulders, wrists, and knees screaming.
I barely got a chance to really let that pain sink in, though, before a hand was grabbing a fistful of my hair, and yanking me roughly back by it, the pain igniting over my scalp, making my eyes water as I was forced to look over and see my mom tied to a chair. And a man standing beside her.
I didn’t even give him a second thought as my gaze landed on my mom, sitting there in her cream nightgown, looking ethereal and beautiful with her hair streaming over her shoulders.
But there was tape over her mouth.
And the way her shoulders were arched back said she was bound tightly.
Mom.
I meant to call it out, but I think my lips only mouthed the words as her worried gaze moved over me.
Her eyes went small at that, though, almost as if to say ‘Why would you come here, my sweet girl?’
Because that was exactly what she would have said if she wasn’t gagged.
“I’m kind of glad you didn’t kill the bitch now,” the man next to my mom said, finally dragging my gaze away from her to look at him. “She’s kind of pretty. Figure we can have some fun with her while we wait for lover boy to come looking for her.”
I’d like to say that my stomach didn’t drop, that fear didn’t slither through me at those words, at that threat.
But that would be a lie.
“Can take our turns on her while her mom watches,” the man who had me by the hair said. “Then take turns on mom while she watches,” he added.
This time, it wasn’t fear that built in my system.
Oh, no.
It was rage.
It boiled up, hot and bubbling, in my belly, and made its way upward and outward, until it was sizzling in my veins, until my face felt heated, and my skin on fire.