Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Shut the fuck up.” John’s voice was so rough and full of anger he sounded like a growling rabid dog. Connelly’s mind raced, flooded with the stress of the situation. If he could just get to his weapon.
John ripped the phone out of his hand and tossed it hard onto the cement steps. It shattered. Then he patted Connelly down and slipped the pistol out of his holster. Connelly cringed and his mind raced to find another way to get the upper hand.
“Think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? Turning my wife and boys against me. Janie wouldn’t even open the door!”
“You beat her, what did you expect?”
John shoved him sideways. “What do you know about it? We were married.”
Connelly stumbled but caught himself on the railing. “That doesn’t give you the right to hurt her.”
“Move.” Another shove.
With John still holding a gun at his back, Connelly didn’t have any other choice. He went down the stairs and followed John’s directions until they were off the street, hidden behind a plastic construction fence with nothing but the rubble of a recently destroyed building surrounding them.
“What’s the plan? You gonna kill me? You’ll have the entire NYPD searching for you, buddy. Is that what you want?”
“Don’t fucking call me buddy, you bastard. I’m not your friend.” John shoved him again, this time hard enough that Connelly fell. His hands scraped on the jagged edges of the broken concrete slabs, just barely stopping his face from colliding with the dirt.
“And yeah, I’m gonna kill you.” He slammed a booted foot to Connelly’s back and pushed him down. “Then I’m gonna kill your sister too, and your whole fucking family. I’m gonna take my boys and we’re getting out of this fucking city.”
Connelly spit out pebbles and glared into the darkness. There was no way in hell he’d let this asshole hurt anyone he loved ever again.
* * *
They’d arrived before Connelly got home, and Fitch even managed to find a parking spot within sight of his building. Z recognized Connelly’s slightly bow-legged swagger from half a block away but waited until he could clearly make out his features.
“That’s him,” Z said, reaching for the handle with one hand and gripping his bag with the other. “Thanks again, guys.”
“Wait, who’s that with him?” Fitch asked.
Z looked out the window just as a shadowy figure pushed Connelly down the steps.
“Shit.”
Z was out the door in an instant with Fitch and Ansel cursing behind him, but he didn’t get far before Fitch grabbed his arm.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Let go of me.”
“Get back in the car. We’ll call the police.”
“Go ahead and call them—by the time they get here it might be too late. Get your fucking hands off me right now.”
“Come on, you don’t even know what’s happening,” Ansel said.
“We all saw the gun.”
His friend bit his lip and looked at Fitch with worried eyes as Z tried to shake out of the man’s grip. Every second they stood in the middle of the street was another second that might cost Connelly his life. Z couldn’t stand it. Every nerve, every muscle screamed at him to move. Because nothing else mattered but saving the man who had saved him.
He couldn’t let anything happen to Connelly.
With that as his driving force, Z clenched his fist tight and swung as hard as he could at Fitch’s face. The punch landed with a loud thud. Fitch grunted. Ansel gasped.
Fitch’s hold on his arm released. Z didn’t bother saying he was sorry before he took off running.
The street was dark. Why hadn’t he noticed how dark it was before? Half of the lights weren’t working, making the shadows between buildings swell ominously. Where was he? Where had they gone?
Both sidewalks were completely empty and only a few cars passed by as he ran. They hadn’t had time to drive away, had they? His lungs burned with the bitter taste of fear as he tried to listen for any sound to indicate where they could be hiding. All he could hear was the rushing of his own pulse and the thundering of his own heart.
Connelly was out there somewhere and someone was pointing a gun at him.
Z grabbed his stomach and bent over, sucking air as tears stung his eyes.
He’d find him. He had to find him, before it was too late.
Someone shouted. Z’s head snapped up and he held his breath. There was a demolished building just ahead sealed off with one of those temporary construction walls. The green plastic was cut, making a gap just big enough for someone to sneak through. Z headed toward it cautiously. As he neared, pieces of an angry conversation became clear. He reached inside the bag hanging off his shoulder and curled his fingers around the purple mini stun gun he’d been carrying around in his bag for who knew how long.