Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Crossing the street, my eyes sweep to the right and left. They’ve been doing a lot of that lately, because it isn’t just on walks like the one I’m taking right now where I’ve been looking for Nix. I’ve been glancing over my shoulder for three days, sure I’ll see him lurking somewhere, watching me. Maybe I want to find him. I don’t know. I only know I can’t live in this state of limbo much longer. I have to know.
And then somehow, I’ll have to break the news to Colt—if any of this is true, of course.
This is the route I took, isn’t it? It has to be. I just walked in a straight line the other night, not really paying attention to where I was going, with no destination in mind. All that mattered was getting away.
Little did I know the real danger was ahead of me.
There’s less and less traffic the further away from home I go until I start to recognize the businesses I saw before. I wonder how they expect to make any money when they’re closed after people get out of work for the day. Slowing my pace, I pay closer attention than ever to my surroundings, jumping a little when a sharp laugh bursts out of one of the upper-floor windows. There must be apartments up there. I need to chill out—I am way too jumpy. It’s just that the closer I get to the alley where it all happened, the fresher the memories are.
Soon I pass a car where two vaguely familiar men lean against the front. “Hey, baby! What, you decided to come back and make friends?”
Oh, great. These guys. I wish I had pulled up my hood—maybe then they wouldn’t recognize me if they didn’t see my hair—but it’s too late for that now. All I can do is pretend not to hear them and keep walking with my head down. Is he out here somewhere? He’s taking his sweet damn time if he is.
“You’re a rude little bitch, you know that?” Oh, no. The voice is closer this time. They’re following me.
“For real. Whatever happened to girls being able to take a fucking compliment?” They laugh nastily as they fall in step behind me, muttering to each other about my body, whistling.
Aren’t there cops in this town? Why the hell can’t one drive by right now? Or just a good Samaritan, for God’s sake? But no, it’s just me and these two guys. Two guys who decide to take me by my arms and turn me in place.
“What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!” I can’t use my keys on them with them holding my arms like this. I do everything I can—kicking my feet, making myself as heavy as I can, going dead weight in hopes they’ll stop—but they don’t. All they do is laugh, pulling me toward their car.
“We’re just gonna have some fun,” the shorter of the two tells me, snickering. “Relax, you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Let’s see if that red hair is natural,” the other guy suggests, and sheer animal panic floods my system, making me fight harder than ever.
“Help me!” I scream, pulling and struggling, getting closer to the car with every step.
“Get the fuck off her!”
I know that voice. The sound of it is an arrow piercing my terror. Looking up, I find him standing in front of us, his hood pulled up over his ski mask to hide his face.
But he’s not hiding the switchblade in his hand, the streetlights making the metal gleam. “Get off of her,” he commands menacingly. “Or I will make you eat the ground before I slice both your dicks off. Got it?”
Cowards. Just like that, they let me go and hurry off, looking over their shoulders as they scurry to the car like a couple of scared rabbits. I would laugh if I wasn’t so busy trying to stay upright, swaying on my feet, panting for every breath.
“Are you okay?” That voice again. He’s not whispering this time. Maybe he forgot to—or maybe I called him by his real name, and he knows he doesn’t have to hide anymore.
At first, I can only nod until I catch my breath. “I’m all right. Thank you.”
It’s like thanking him flips a switch. Taking a step toward me, he asks, “What did I tell you?”
“I know what you told me.” I will not cower. I will not apologize. “But I needed to see you again. I needed to be sure it was you. I want to see your face.” I reach for his ski mask, but he takes a step away from me before I can reach him.
“Is that what this is about?” Putting away the switchblade, he shakes his head, his face still hidden. “I’m disappointed.”
“Disappointed? Why would you care that I’m out here?” I counter. Every word makes me feel a little stronger because I know I’m right—it’s the only thing that makes sense. “Show me your face. Or else I’m never going to stop looking, and you’re just going to have to follow me around and threaten people with a switchblade every day.”