Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Kade is cut off by a loud explosion. A blast of flames shoots out from the back room. A loud rumble echoes throughout the bar. The walls shake around us, and a large piece of the ceiling falls. I’m forced to dive to the side to avoid it crushing me.
“Fuck, what was that?”
“We gotta get the fuck out of here. Someone is setting the club on fire.”
Kade goes to grab for me, but I knock his hand away. “I need my phone.” Another loud explosion blasts through the dance floor. The windows above from my office shatter, spitting glass everywhere. I block my face, but it doesn’t stop shards of glass from stabbing into my forearms and legs.
“You’re gonna have to get a new one. We need to go. Now.”
I can’t. I need that phone. It’s the only chance I have of finding Jensen. I shove my arm under the bar. The bottom scrapes my skin, but I force my hand forward, to no avail.
“Damien. Leave it!” Kade’s hands are locked around my shoulders, pulling me away.
“No! Get the fuck off me! I need that phone!” I turn to throw a punch when another explosion sounds, and another chunk of the ceiling falls onto the bar, crushing the top. Flames explode, creating a barrier. I jump at it, not caring if I get burned, but Kade is on me. Fredrick is coddling his broken face as they both work together in dragging me across the dance floor toward the front exit. There’s so much smoke. My skin burns from all the surrounding flames. I start to cough and cover my mouth.
Kade stops and looks up to my office. “Fuck, Patricia. I can’t leave her locked in there.”
“Fuck her. She deserves to burn. Plus, you won’t make it out if you try,” Fredrick says through his own choked coughs.
“That’s for the police to decide. I can’t leave her. Get out. I’m right behind you.” Kade pushes me toward the door and takes off down the smoke-filled hallway leading to the private stairway. I take a step in his direction to go with him. Patricia might know where Jensen is. She might be my only way to find her. Just as I follow in the direction he disappeared, a ball of fire explodes from the hallway, throwing us both back.
Everything goes black.
STOP!
Please don’t do this.
Help!
I’m startled awake from an all too real nightmare. I shake off the horrid images of my bad dream and sit up, but quickly realize I’m already in the seated position. I’m not in my bed. Shooting pain radiates inside my head, and I tug at my arms, but they’re pinned behind me.
Oh God.
Where am I?
How did I get here?
My mind is so foggy. I can’t seem to focus.
Everything hurts.
Panic sets in when I realize I’m tied to a chair. I pull at my arms again, and severe pain erupts up my back. Fabric holds tight around my eyes, blindfolding me. I try to listen for sounds, but it’s eerily quiet. I don’t know whether to scream for help or stay silent.
I fight the fogginess for any memory.
Flashes of yelling, struggling. The pain. The blood.
“What are you doing here?”
“What the hell is going on—?”
“Put me down!”
Oh God! The hotel. The attack. Them.
“Let me go!”
“No, please don’t. Please!”
It’s all starting to come back to me. The text from Christine asking to meet me. Texting back my location. When I opened the hotel door, it all happened so fast.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Christine—?”
I don’t finish my sentence. He attacks me. His arms wrap around my waist, trying to secure a hold on me. I fight him hard, but my feet leave the ground. I start to scream, but his large hand covers my mouth. I struggle, throwing my head back. I meet bone as he howls and drops me, and I fall to the ground, landing wrong on my ankle. I moan as the pain shoots up my leg.
Fear consumes me. I attempt to crawl away and get to my feet, but he catches a chunk of my hair.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, you little whore?”
I scratch at his arms, fighting against his tight grip. I have no choice but to scramble to my feet unless I want him to rip out any more of my hair.
Screaming, I swing at him, and my nails dig deep, leaving a long scratch down his face.
“Bitch!” He throws me forward. My injured ankle lets out, and I stumble and fall into the nightstand. My head makes contact with the corner of the wood. I bring my fingers up to my head. It’s already swelling, and when I pull away, my fingers are covered in blood. I try to stand, but the room spins. I throw my hand on the mattress to steady myself, leaving a red print.