Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85512 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
A loud bang rings out, assaulting my ears, and Lindsey just drops.
She doesn’t try to stop her fall.
Her arms don’t come out.
She just drops to the floor with a thump.
I didn’t even see the gun appear. Everything just happened so quickly, and I was too busy mentally pleading with Lindsey, to pay attention to the other men.
Beside me, Amanda screams.
Sophia gapes.
I look to Mr. Smooth, then to the man beside him with the gun in his hand. The man with the Russian accent.
I look down at Lindsey.
Did that just happen? I wonder as a cold wave of shock washes over me.
Lindsey’s blue eyes stare lifelessly up at the ceiling, but I just keep staring at her, expecting and urging her to blink.
Get up, Lindsey, get up.
But she doesn’t move.
She doesn’t twitch or blink.
She just keeps staring.
The light that was in her eyes just a moment ago has flickered out.
Somehow her eyes have dimmed and emptied.
A dark pool of blood begins to spread around her, staining her white blonde hair.
Then I see it, the gun shot. The hole in her forehead. And it registers. What just happened finally sinks in.
I can’t stop myself, I scream.
“Lindsey’s dead, oh my god,” Sophia mumbles beside me. “He killed her, he fucking killed her!”
Mr. Smooth turns back to us, his grin spreading. “Would you three like to tell me about your famous fathers too?”
Amanda shakes her head, sobbing and sputtering out, “No, no.”
A spike of fear slams through me as I meet his eyes. Oh my god, if he finds out who my father is I’m going to die.
Just like Lindsey…
Mr. Smooth stares at us long and hard, and I feel fucking petrified. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t speak. “You are no one now, yes? You are my pets.”
Amanda nods her head up and down, and Sophia whimpers. Fuck, her father is the Chief of Police. She’s screwed even more than I am.
“Who’s responsible for this?” Mr. Smooth asks, turning to face the three men in black fatigues.
“Ronny,” the Russian answers. “It was his idea to grab the girls from the parking lot after botching the first grab.”
“No, boss, I—”
Again the gun goes off and the guy in the middle drops to the floor.
The other two jump away, startled.
Oh fuck, oh fuck. I seem to be incapable of thinking anything but oh, fuck.
Amanda’s little sobs start to turn into loud, blaring wails.
Mr. Smooth turns back to us and orders. “Take the girls to the holding room.”
The two men in black fatigues hesitate for a moment and then jump forward to do his bidding. They have to step around their fallen comrade and Lindsey to reach us.
“What about the bodies?” the Russian with the gun asks as the two guys start to shove us forward. “How would you like me to dispose of them?
Mr. Smooth glances down at the bodies and turns away. “Feed them to the pigs.”
5
Johnathan
Four girls missing from my parking lot. Four fucking girls someone had the balls to take from my fucking property.
Do they not know what my property is? Do they not know who the fuck I am? Who the fuck I work for?
My mind doesn’t like the answers it comes up with.
Whoever took the girls from my lot doesn’t know a god damn thing. They don’t know that my property has become a neutral zone for the city. That no one fucks with anyone on my property.
I fought Lucifer long and hard on this place. He didn’t want it, he didn’t like it, and he ensured I knew the cost of keeping a neutral zone in his city.
A neutral zone for anyone to come talk without worry of being ambushed. A place that isn’t owned by anyone but me.
Sure, I work for Lucifer, and I’m in his inner circle. But this is a place that is outside of that realm. It’s mine. And some stupid fuck just took four girls off my property.
I’d call them women, but fuck, they’re barely out of their teens, if I’m guessing right.
Pulling my cellphone from my pocket, I dial the one fucking person I fucking hate calling.
“Yes, Johnathan? What is it now?” Simon’s bored tone comes through the phone.
Fucking prissy bastard.
“You need to get down to the bar. I’ve got a problem.”
“Your bar, your problems. You know the rules, Johnathan. I could care less if someone is puking in your beer cooler.”
That’s about fucking typical of him. He doesn’t give two shits. Doesn’t even want to know.
“Yeah, well, get your ass down here. I’ve got a few purses here and the names on the IDs are odd. I can’t place ‘em, but I know ‘em.”
“So underage drinking happens all the time, Johnathan. Good night.”
“They got yanked from my parking lot, Simon.”
“Hmmm. Well, you did say you wanted it outside of…. what was it? Everyone’s hands but your’s?”