Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 95898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I force myself to breathe as this horrifying scene unfolds before me. I’m scared out of my mind; I can’t see straight. There is no stand-off here. This Mitchell guy holds all of the power as he’s the only one with a pointed gun, and here I am at an impasse again.
These fluctuating emotions are enough to send me to an early grave. I’m sick of bouncing between them all, and how my emotions are always in reaction to someone else’s doing. Small things I’ve always been able to ignore, but abduction, guns, and threats always deserve a backlash of fury, and I feel the unleashed wrath snap within me.
I’ve had way more than enough, and I’m sick of continuously being the victim, especially a shooting target. My life has been constantly on the line at every turn. My fear has faded, and in its place, anger and retaliation take place front and center. With my life hanging in the balance, I become determined to get the upper hand once and for all.
As heated anger begins to pool inside the pit of my stomach, I flick my eyes around, looking for my dropped gun. As the men continue to be distracted by exchanging heated words, I slowly inch my hand behind my back, and quietly sift through the pine straw. My heart leaps for joy when my fingers come into contact with the hard steel.
With my hand already being in the most opportune place it can be, hidden from sight, I calculate what it would take to get the grip of the pistol totally in my hand, and at the same time, be able to whip it around my body to shoot.
“Not so quick, young lady,” Mitchell says as his deep voice cuts through me, making me go numb from head to toe. I bite the inside of my cheek as I look up at him. He points his gun at me, and my pulse spikes sky-high. “You’re a tough little shit, aren’t you?” he asks, sounding half impressed, and then he flicks his eyes between Travis and me. “You’ve wasted no time, I see.”
“I don’t waste my time on trash, like some people do,” Travis states with a smooth, scary calmness.
Mitchell shifts his pistol, pointing it directly back at Travis, and says, “Neither do I.”
The loud thunderous bang of a gun goes off, and I scream at the top of my lungs. I look to Travis, expecting to see him bleeding out, but am surprised he’s sitting tall wearing a satirical grin on his face. I whip my head in Mitchell’s direction and realize I’m not the one screaming anymore; he is. Mitchell is down on the ground, rolling around in the pine straw, in some serious agony.
My heartbeat thrums in my ears as another man approaches out of the hidden foliage from between some trees. His face is unreadable, and he’s powerfully built, like a Mack Truck. Black streaks of war paint decorate his face as if he just came off a football field, except he’s wearing camo gear instead. His weapon is huge, and the way he’s holding it with such confidence and skill, one would think it is an extension of his arm. Everything about this man reminds me of Rambo, from his imposing stance to his muscular build.
I shift my eyes to Travis and watch as he gives the man an icy look. This shit is just too much, so I reflexively make a go for my gun. I’m not quick enough. The approaching man sees what I’m about to do, and with his gun being at the ready, he merely lifts it and holds me at gunpoint.
“Don’t do it, Jules.” His hard, rough voice freezes me in my tracks, and as he nears, I almost piss my pants. He is freaking huge. How does he know my name?
“About fucking time, asshole,” Travis says with ungrateful scorn.
The man has the sudden audacity to smirk at Travis as he says, “The Travis I know wouldn’t have fallen to the ground in the first place. Looks like your ball-and-chain took you down.”
Travis lets out a puff of air in a half-laugh. “Fuck you, man.”
Rambo starts to chuckle as he secures his gun and steps toward Travis, offering his hand.
Confusion begins to take place over their exchange. My brows furrow, and I doubt my sanity. Didn’t Rambo just have his M-whatever gun pointing at me? Travis gets up and stands to his full height, and I angle my head back to stare at the two giants. I’m guessing this guy is on our side, especially when they do a quick, back-slap man-hug. I thought Travis was a big man, but Rambo definitely has him beat. My mouth is left gaping wide open as I scope out the muscles on the hulk. They are insane.