Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I back up slowly, baiting him to follow me. “Is this really what you wanna do? Go out defending an old shit like Hawthorne? He's just gonna use you and then throw you aside. Once he's on top, why's he gonna need you, huh?” I have no idea, to be honest, but I'm hoping for some henchman insecurity here.
He only chuckles, not taking the bait, as he keeps chasing me around the big kitchen. Guess not.
I grab a couple plates off the counter and throw them at him as he comes at me, but he bats them aside with the frying pan, smashing them into thousands of pieces. Even if he doesn't get me right away, all the noise is bound to attract more guards.
Fuck, I don't have time for this shit.
He throws the pan, and as I block it, I trip over something and fall backwards. The floor hits me like a fucking truck and my skull bounces off the marble tile. He's on me with the kitchen knife in a flash. Fuck, he's fast, and stronger than he looks.
Still, I get my hand around his wrist, keeping us at a stalemate as he puts his weight on it, trying to force it down into my throat. If I let go, he'll fucking kill me, and if he lets up, I’ll do the same.
I'm stronger. Slowly, inch by inch, I force his arm up and back. He's gritting his teeth, his forehead's sweating, but even with all his weight on it, I'm pushing him away. “Motherfucker,” he hisses, and then I twist his arm. A nasty popping noise comes from his joint and the fucker screams. He manages to hold onto the knife somehow as he steps back, but it's sticking at an unnatural angle and that's gotta hurt like a bitch.
I jump to my feet, and finding myself next to the stove, I grab the hot pan with the burning egg in it and swing towards him. He lifts his good arm to block, but takes the flat of the pan right to the face, accompanied with another scream and a satisfying sizzle. He's one of the fuckers who tried to break Kaylee and I don't give a fuck if he wasn't the one who hit her. He's just as fucking guilty.
As he's rolling on the ground and clutching his burnt face, I pick up the chef's knife from the floor and drive it deep into the back of his neck at the base of his skull, like I’m opening a lobster. He twitches once, and goes still.
“Which came first, motherfucker?”
I find my gun, and then get the fuck out. The shootout is still going, so maybe I'm lucky enough that no one noticed this, but I'm not gonna bet on it. Pushing the next door open, I take it, emerging into a big, fancy ass sitting room. There's two guys at the windows shooting out. Apparently no one passed on the message that I got inside, and I'm about to take advantage of that when I hear a scream upstairs.
“Help! In here!”
If that's not Kaylee, I'm gonna eat my fucking bike. I take the stairs two at a time, until I get to a hallway. The screaming's down there. My feet can't fucking carry me fast enough. If we've found her already, this has to be about the smoothest rescue mission the Eagles have managed to date.
The door's locked, but I kick it open. Most of the room inside is glass with a fancy table and a broken chair in the middle, but I don't see anyone. What the fuck?
I step inside and something hard slams into my skull before everything goes black.
36
KAYLEE
“Tank?”
He's alive! Oh my God, he's alive!
If I didn't just kill him. I drop to my knees next to him and feel for a pulse. It's strong, but crap, I must've given him one heck of a concussion if he's down like that. Maybe if I find some water, or—
“Get the fuck away from him,” snaps Harris as he grabs my wrist and yanks me out of the room, right over Tank's prone body. Harris pauses a moment like he considers taking the time to kill Tank, but then rushes down the hall, dragging me with him.
“Let go!” I snap and try to resist, but he's way too strong for me.
Unless I follow, I'm going to go right on my face. He takes me in the opposite direction from where I was led in, to the end of the hallway, where there's a small, personal elevator waiting. He drags me in, just as Hawthorne comes out of one of the other rooms.
“Wait! We're getting the fuck out of here!” He looks stressed as he jogs towards us. That's good, right? I try to pull away, hoping Harris is distracted, but he yanks me right back. Not yet, at least.