Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Death.
And I’d rather not believe it. I beg my eyes to shut, to cease their pursuit of him.
Seeing’s believing, right? And if I don’t see this, it didn’t friggen happen.
Oh, Luxxie, he is so in your head. I’m crazy.
Pinned to the spot, cum slithers down the inside of my thigh. An eerie crack of a snapped neck resounds.
Victor draws a gun. Where the fuck did that gun come from? He had a hard-on at the club, nothing else. A tiny gasp exits my mouth as the female’s body pulsates. Bullets pump into her skull.
One.
Two.
Unnerving precision.
They were just jogging. Now, they’re both dead.
No, I stand corrected. A third man, a transient, falls into the shopping cart he was pushing. Another one . . . two. I realize my bones quiver each time Victor pulls the trigger.
My heart lurches into my throat. I’m staring into the barrel of Victor’s gun. My eyes bite shut involuntarily. Shit, I couldn’t will myself to blink mere moments ago. Another blast rips through the air. And another. The friggen double tap.
In the dark, I place trembling hands over my chest. Luxury, you’re alive, run stupid!
Vision restored; cool air inundates my lungs.
God, my body shakes like a leaf. Gradually, I turn to see a fourth person. A construction worker has fallen to the ground, chest painted a dark, crimson color. At the sight of his dead body, I spin around, tripping over the body of Victor’s second victim. My knees mash into the soft chest of the innocent female jogger.
My palms press into a pool of sticky, hot blood on either side of her head. Suddenly, I’m bathed in hot, viscous gore. Red. Momma. My hands drip just as they had the day I found my momma. The sight and smell choke me deep down. Suffocating from the inside out, my hands fall over my throat, massaging the tender column as I hack.
“Ohhhh, God! Ohhhh . . . my God!” Jesus, help me. Kicking out of my heels and rubbing my soaked palms onto my dress, I climb to my feet. Anxiety threatens to drown me. My heart races and my breathing becomes shallow. My head is dizzy. Taking deep breaths, I try to fight it. I must.
“Help!” I run toward the covered bridge. It’s not my most brilliant idea, but my feet track in that direction.
I peer through the gloomy conduit, glimpsing a guy on the opposite side. Extending my legs fully, I charge over the cobble-stoned pathway.
“Help,” I croak.
Click. Click.
The sound of Victor’s gun filches my air. At the last moment, I veer toward the sloped area trailing to the left of the bridge. My bare feet skid on wet grass, and I grasp at the turf. Tiny blades stick to my blood-stained fingers. God, please save me! Somehow, I must get away from Dr. Finch.
39
VICTOR
“Fuck,” I grit out as Luxury sprints toward the fifth assassin. I’m running at top speed, but the girl has a head start. The bloke is on the other side of the bridge. As he unzips a puffer jacket, timid light glimmers over something metallic concealed in his hands.
Soulless eyes track Luxury then flicker in my direction. Recognition dawns on the wanka.
She was his target.
I am now.
Each of these tossers had Luxury in their crosshairs.
A menacing smile flashes on his face. He removes the jacket, revealing a row of jagged, throwing knives holstered to his chest. He snatches one out. I gesture to the gun in my hand, then slip it into the back of my pants. If I come upon some bloody bullets, I’ll use it later. If not, I’ll dispose of it.
Aware he’s caught me unarmed, the bloke looks at me like I’ve made the worst bloody cock-up of my entire life. He flicks his wrist. The first dagger zips in my direction. I stand my ground, shrugging a shoulder when the blade swooshes past my ear.
The next bites into my bicep muscle.
“Needed that, mate.” Adrenaline hurtles through me. I snatch out the blade I’d positioned myself to apprehend and flick my wrist.
Plasma arches as the knife nicks the side of his neck.
Alright, playtime’s over.
I sprint toward him, full force. Intimidated, he starts for another switchblade from his holster. My left hook meets his chin, and the knife clatters to the ground. The cunt’s sloppy hook is blocked by my forearm.
No bloody power.
My brute strength isn’t lost on him. The chap tosses his forehead in my direction. A thwack that could’ve reconstructed my fucking nose sails over my head, and my shoulder pounds into his chest.
His legs shuffle backward as he attempts to grab another throwing knife. We grapple, and I hold his arms away from his body. From my peripheral, Luxury’s scampering up the slope toward the street. Good girl.
While gaining her balance, she looks back. Torture mars her gorgeous features. Then she’s gone.