Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84294 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“Good, she might have it on her,” he says, sounding as though he’s put me on speakerphone, and I’m sure he must be looking up the GPS. “It’s searching,” he tells me, and I hear the frustration in his voice, wishing it would go faster. “Come on,” he grunts, running out of patience.
I get in my truck and turn on the ignition, waiting for his go-ahead. “Shit, here we go,” he rushes out. “I’m texting you the address. It’s about a five-minute drive.”
The text comes through not a second later. “Got it.”
With Cassie’s car blocking me in, I floor it up and over the parking island and over the sidewalk, knocking down a few light reflectors on my way. “We’re on our way,” Logan says before hanging up.
I fly up past the side of the stadium and past the drops of blood where I’d found her bag. My fear settles just a bit knowing that the triplets are on their way, but I will beat them there by miles.
My truck screeches onto the road, and I barge in front of oncoming traffic only to be honked at by pissed-off drivers, but I honestly don’t give a shit right now. All that matters is getting to her.
Speeding down the road, I honk and weave through the traffic, daring these fuckers to get in my way. The thought crosses my mind that maybe she’s fine. Maybe she met a friend and took off, but I know that isn’t true. Cassie is in trouble, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to find her.
Looking down at my phone, I double-check the address and push my foot harder to the ground. My engine roars as I push it faster, power surging me forward.
Hold on, baby. I’m coming for you.
Chapter 21
CASSIE
My head pounds and my nose is assaulted by an awful stench as I struggle to open my eyes on this cheap, uncomfortable bed. My body shivers, and I pull my hands up to rub my face, but something is holding them down.
Wait, bed?
What the fuck?
My eyes fly open, remembering the asshole from Micky’s and the way he slammed my head down against the frame of his car. I attempt to sit up, but I’m stopped by the binds around my wrists and ankles that are tied to the corners of the bed. I search frantically around the room as memories of being assaulted and knocked out come rushing back.
I choke on my fear, a loud sob tearing from the back of my throat.
Where the hell am I?
My breath comes too fast as I search the room, only finding darkness, and I wonder if my vision is fucked after getting my head knocked into the side of a car. Maybe I’m in some place that has the windows boarded up, but I know it’s worse than that—I’m locked in a basement, tied to a bed, just waiting for this asshole to come down and assault me again.
A shiver takes over me, and I look down, horrified to find I’m in nothing but a bra and panties. Tears stream down my face. How the hell did I get myself into this situation?
My eyes begin to adjust to the dark room, and I take in my surroundings. It’s a small brick room with one tiny window above a washing machine, but the window has been meticulously boarded up, not letting in a single thread of light.
Old wooden stairs lead up toward the main house, and my gaze locks on the door. Even though I know that’s my only way out, I keep searching anyway, needing to know exactly what I’m dealing with here. I need to keep looking, keep searching for something . . . anything that I could use to help me.
Bri is sick at home, and as far as she’s aware, I’m at the game. The triplets would have no idea what’s going on, and why should they? But Jax … He’s my only hope, and he’s in the middle of a massive game. He may notice I’m not in my spot in the grandstand, but he would just assume I’m sitting somewhere else.
I’m on my own. I have no hope, and by the time any of them realize I’m gone . . . fuck. Who knows what could have happened to me.
After I finish scanning the room, I realize just how fucked I am. There’s nothing sharp left in the room, not that I would be able to reach anything with my hands and feet bound anyway. I locate all my clothes on the ground and realize they’re torn to shreds, and my hope starts to plummet.
My brain goes into survival mode, and I reach down to feel along the small parts of the bed frame within my reach. Hope begins to surge within me as I feel a screw under my finger, and I jam my nail into it, trying my hardest to turn it. That hope quickly fades as my nail splits and bleeds, shooting agony through my finger. I curse, but try to keep quiet. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself and let the fucker know I’m awake.