Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127213 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Cursing softly, he saved himself by grabbing the counter, but then his gaze landed on the wide space between the sink and the kitchen island. His body turned into wood, refusing to move or breathe. Only his heartbeat sped up so rapidly it felt like it was about to shatter his ribcage.
Kitchen towels lay on the floor, red and brown, but a lot of the liquid they were meant to soak up remained on the tiles, including the thick streak that had almost made Ezra fall over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for at first, but then recognized the coppery scent, which in this room was not masked by bleach.
It was blood, and Ezra found himself wondering why Paul would mess up this beautiful kitchen when he had a large property on hand to butcher whatever animal he’d hunted down.
Only it wasn’t an animal.
Fingers peeked out from a large black bag, and as Ezra stepped closer, feeling removed from reality altogether, it almost seemed like the severed hand was reaching for a bloodstained saw resting next to a large stewing pot containing—
Ezra bent in half as his stomach convulsed, releasing his latest meal onto the floor at his feet, but he was already backing away, while the dead eyes of an unfamiliar man watched him from the pot in accusation.
When the shower a little bit farther down the hallway stopped running, the silence was as loud as a gunshot, and Ezra ran.
The predator was no longer distracted, and the moment it sensed his presence, his head would join the stranger’s, his body no longer an object of pleasure but a slab of meat.
The world around him moved in slow motion, blurring as he dashed around the house and then into the car he'd left with keys still in the ignition. The skin at the back of his neck burned, suggesting that Paul had already spotted him, that he was already heading to the front of the building, and that he’d keep Ezra alive for hours of torture.
But nobody shouted or shot his way as he started the car and sped up the driveway and then away from the property with fire in his veins and a heavy weight in his chest. Surely, he was violating all road laws and speed limits on his way from the isolated property, but he’d welcome a police car at this point, and the safety of an armed man at his side.
But as he pulled into a larger road and joined the sparse afternoon traffic, the tension turned into relief, because Paul would have followed him if he knew his secret had been discovered. And he wasn’t chasing Ezra down like a maniac or calling him, then—
Ezra’s hands shook so suddenly he swerved to the other side of the road, prompting the upcoming truck to honk, but immediate danger released him from the unexpected stupor, and he squeezed the wheel, going back into the right lane.
Shit.
He’d left his phone on the fucking kitchen counter.
And if Paul didn’t notice its presence right away, he surely had by now.
Paul, the killer who sang ‘Purple Rain’ in the shower after cutting up some dude into bite-size chunks, knew Ezra found out what he’d done.
He was dead.
Dead.
A sob tore from Ezra’s throat as he headed toward the setting sun, but this was not the time for crying. His first thought was to contact the police, but Paul had suggested numerous times that he had some bigwig cops in his pocket. Whatever deal he’d struck might apply to shady business dealings, not murder, but could Ezra afford that risk? No, he needed to get the fuck out of town.
People like him were often disposable casualties for cops.
Every organ inside him cramped when he realized that while some of his stuff was already packed, it wasn’t as if he could just pop into his apartment, grab some suitcases and go, because Paul could chase him down there too.
He had no friends who’d let him stay overnight, but even if that kept him safe today, what then? He was so fucking screwed.
But as he agonized over being in this terrible situation that seemingly offered no ways out, his frantic thoughts settled when he thought of the one person who might offer him a helping hand. He lived in a remote location Ezra only knew approximately, but finding him would be the best bet, if Ezra wanted to stay alive.
He took a turn toward the Wreck & Repair junkyard.
Chapter 7
Frank
Frank flipped the tractor tire again with a frustrated grunt. Nothing was going right for him today, and getting exhausted to the point of passing out on his sofa after this workout seemed to be the best course of action. Every time the black rubber behemoth hit the ground, a cloud of dust hit him in the face like extra punishment. Not that he deserved it.