Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78534 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Anne nibbles on her granola bar. I’m not even sure she knows she’s doing it. Her eyes are fixed on the door and she’s snuggled right up against my side again.
Something is happening outside. There aren't any windows, but men are yelling to each other close enough that I can almost make out what they are saying. A moment later, there's another explosion, so close that my ears are ringing. Anne screams and drops her can, the soda leaking out and covering the floor.
The guard with the tattoo snarls. “Shut the fuck up. You trying to get us killed?”
"It's okay, Anne. It's okay." I put an arm around her and hold her tight. She's shaking like she has a fever. "We’re going to be fine. I promise."
Gunshots, sounds of struggle, screams. The more we hear, the tighter my hold on Anne gets.
“I can’t breathe,” she gasps.
"Sorry." I force myself to let up.
Voices right outside the door. Both guards draw their weapons and get into ready positions at either side of it. "Get back," hisses the redhead. "Stay low. If things go to shit, run."
“Little pig, little pig, let me iiiin,” a deep voice croons from the other side of the door. “We can hear you in there.”
"Fuck it," says the one with the tattoos. “I’m not going down for that asshole or his brat.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The other guard grabs him as a thundering roar blasts all four of us.
The door blasts inwards, smashing against the opposite wall and taking the coward with it. A thick cloud of smoke billows to fill the whole room, so I can't see a thing. Only Anne's tight grip on me lets me know she's still right next to me. It's not until the ringing fades that I realize we're both still screaming.
"Don’t come any closer!" barks the redheaded guard. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling though. Even I can tell he’s not the one in control.
A massive, undeniably male silhouette fills the doorway, so broad his shoulders almost touch the frame on both sides and tall enough that he has to duck a little to step inside.
"Keep back, or I'll—" The guard's shout is cut short as the big man wraps a massive fist around the guard's throat and slams him up against the wall. The man puts a gun right up underneath the guard's chin.
I pull Anne against me, pressing her face into my chest. “Don’t look!”
"Or you'll what?" the big man growls.
"Riot! Wait! It’s not Kane. There's fucking kids in here," another man shouts.
“Aw, fuck! Sorry.” The man he called Riot grabs the surviving guard and pulls him out the door. A moment later, a gunshot echoes in the hall.
The guy in the door winces. “Fucking smooth, man.”
He tucks his gun into his belt and holds up his hands like he’s trying to convince us we aren’t in danger. Yeah right. Everything about him screams deadly. His leather jacket hangs open, with a gray T-shirt underneath, stretched tight across his muscular chest. Dusty jeans cling to his muscular thighs, hanging over scuffed up black leather boots. Colorful tattoos crawl down both arms so elaborately that it looks like he's wearing a long sleeve underneath. He looks exactly like what he is, a killer.
I shield Anne as he takes a step closer and the light hits him. He has dark blond hair, shaved on the sides and tied back on top, with a tight, reddish-brown beard. When he locks his eyes with mine, they're pale gray, like clouds just starting to think about a storm, but hard like granite. I wet my lips, rooted to the spot and unable to look away.
A moment later, a third guy swaggers in like this is his home and we're the intruders. His eyebrows go up when he spots us. “What the fuck? I thought Kane’s family was supposed to go back to town after that party.” Deep hazel orbs, like a sun dappled forest floor widen as he takes us in. I try not to show anything, but it feels like I’m being seen for the first time in a long while, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Like the first two, he’s dressed in jeans and leather boots, with a heavy leather jacket that has a yellow patch on it. It reads Tex, with a stitched outline of the state behind it. His hair is thick, brown and a little wild, and he has a five o'clock shadow that does nothing to hide the sharp jut of his chin. His nose is crooked like it's been broken. He smiles at me, tiny lines appearing at the corner of his eyes. There’s something about him that makes me want to trust him, which is ridiculous because clearly these men are the farthest thing from safe.