Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72973 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Mandy never gave me a stitch of love or any kind of attention, so seeing her looking at me with worry makes something twist in my chest.
Stop.
“It’s okay,” she coos. “We’re family.”
She lies down beside me so we’re face-to-face and continues to stroke my hair, an unnaturally soft smile around her mouth.
I stare at Mandy’s face, taking in all the lines and scars.
All my life, she’s looked like this. Old. Tired. Shot up.
Bubbles form around her mouth, some floating into the air. Suddenly, she begins to convulse, and her eyes roll back into her head.
Staring at the white of her eyeballs is freaky as fuck, and I pinch my eyes shut.
When I open them again, Mandy is gone. Instead, Milania is lying beside me. Her eyes are frozen, and there’s puke running from the corner of her mouth.
No.
I fight through the effects of the drugs and manage to lift my head, but it starts to throb.
I take hold of Milania’s shoulder, and shaking her, my words are slurred as I say, “Get up. You need to sit up.”
As my senses steadily return and the effects of the drugs wear off, the pungent stench of vomit hits me.
“Milania,” I whisper.
Sitting up, I lean over her and try to check for her pulse, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right. I hold my finger beneath her nostrils, but there’s no warm air coming from her.
“Shit,” I whimper.
Hit with intense fear and sorrow all at once, I quickly move away from her.
She’s dead.
Jesus, Milania’s dead.
Lifting a hand, I cover my mouth while my breaths burst from me in quick, short puffs.
The warped hallucinations I had while high start to bombard me.
Milania died while I was high out of my mind.
I find a corner and hug my knees to my chest. “Jesus,” I groan, rocking my body. “Jesus.”
My face crumbles as I stare at her lifeless body, but no tears fall.
That’s going to happen to me if I don’t get out of here.
I press my face to my knees, but it hurts, and I have to lift my head again. I suck in deep breaths, the bile in my stomach churning and threatening to come up.
My eyes dart around the room, and I realize the one with the blank stare is gone. The other two are huddled beneath blankets, fast asleep.
I shake my head, struggling to process everything.
Needing to escape, I climb to my feet, using the wall as support. My head spins, and I feel queasy as fuck.
Don’t puke.
Move.
When I reach the door, I peek up and down the hallway, and not seeing anyone, I sneak out of the room. I hear sounds coming from a TV, then someone lets out a loud burp.
“Get me another beer,” a man orders.
“I’m not your fucking maid,” another guy grumbles.
As I near the living room, I keep my body pressed against the wall, sucking in anxious breaths.
I can see part of the TV and boots resting on a coffee table. There’s a window that has yellow-stained sheer curtains.
My eyes latch onto the front door, and my heart beats faster as I hype myself up to make a run for it.
Get to the door. Open it. Don’t fuck up like they do in horror movies. Run like hell.
Movement catches the corner of my eye, and as I glance out the window again, I see armed men approaching the house.
Quite a few of them.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
The last thing I need right now is to be stuck in a gang war.
God, then it’s game over for all of us.
The next second, the front door flies into the house as it’s kicked in. Shocked out of my ever-loving mind, I watch as Dario comes in, looking like an avenging angel who’s a second away from losing his mind.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, completely stunned.
Wearing sexy-as-hell black cargo pants, and a sweater that spans tight across his chest, the man looks freaking hot.
His eyes, filled with rage, touch on me for a second as he raises his arms, a gun in each hand.
Holy shitballs, batman.
I tilt my head, wondering if I’m still hallucinating as I watch him fire shot after shot in the direction where the men who are holding us captive are sitting.
Renzo comes in, followed by Franco, both looking as badass as Dario.
Confused out of my mind, I can only stand and stare, not sure what’s real and what’s not.
Renzo points his gun at me, and I start to shake my head. When he fires a shot, a squeak escapes me while I squeeze harder against the wall.
I glance down, searching for the bullet wound, but I don’t find any. Hearing a groan behind me, I glance over my shoulder and see a man lying in the middle of the hallway.
The woman with the blank stare is standing in the doorway of the bedroom we were held in.