Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
His words shut me up immediately. I know I’m in real trouble, and the best thing I can do for myself right now is keeping my mouth shut. I let out a quiet, bitter laugh as I think of that. Mom always said my inability to shut up at the right times might be the death of me. You might be right, Mom.
“What’s so funny?”
I close my eyes even though it’s pitch black under the bag. I need to shut out all the voices around me, to quiet my mind so that I can focus on what needs to happen next. It would be great if I was one of those people in the movies who can feel left and right turns and accurately guess how long we’ve been driving and in what direction. But I can’t.
I am literally and figuratively in the dark, and the only thing I can do for myself right now is to focus.
And pray to whoever Preacher believes in. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe it won’t. But I have to try.
My head throbs, and I don’t want another hit, so I stay silent and bide my time until we get where we’re going.
An eternity passes before the van comes to a stop, and I hold my breath for a minute to see if I can hear any signs of where I might be.
“What the fuck,” I shout when a hand snakes around my ankle and yanks me hard. I have no idea which way they’re pulling me, but an arm curls around my ribcage, and the hand on my ankle releases me before an arm hooks behind my knees.
I’m completely airborne as they carry me, but I feel the heat of the sun on my skin for more than a minute before the air turns cooler, like air conditioning, and then voices begin to echo on what sounds like empty walls. I want to open my mouth to ask where I am, but I don’t dare.
I tell myself not to show any fear. No matter what happens, I’ll keep a stone expression on my face, and I won’t let on that I’m fucking terrified.
The hands dump me on a hard floor, and I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid the cry of pain that jolts through my elbow and kneecap. I breathe through it and keep my eyes shut when someone yanks the hood off harder than necessary.
“Well, well. We finally meet.” The voice is calm and cool, slightly villainous, and more than a little amused. “Boys, is this any way to treat a guest?”
My eyes are still closed, but two sets of hands grab me by the arms and lift me to my feet. I let out a small wince of pain but nothing else. When my eyes open, all I can see is the smiling face of a mildly good-looking Hispanic man with dead brown eyes.
“Guests aren’t usually yanked off the street and tossed into a van with a hood over their head. Are they?”
His eye twitches, but the man I assume is Hector covers it with a laugh.
“Funny and smart. I like it.”
This guy is a fucking psychopath. I know that all the way down to my bones because his mouth is smiling and laughing and saying all the right things, but those eyes, almost black, are full of anger and rage.
“You can call me Hector.”
“Is Hector your name?”
His nostrils flare again at being questioned, but he nods and smiles.
“It is.”
I clench my jaws and wait for whatever happens next. They brought me here for a reason that I assume is more than just killing me and dumping me in the harbor.
His smile slips a little when I return his deep stare.
“Gianna. What a pretty name for a pretty girl.”
How does he know my birth name? This is fucked up. Just like the guy on the computer. Was it him?
I try for a smile, but I’m scared, and this dude is fucking nuts. “Yeah, thanks.”
“It’s too bad that we have to meet under these circumstances.”
I blink innocently. “What circumstances are you referring to?”
His mouth kicks up into a crooked grin that lacks all amusement and joy.
“I know what you did, Gianna, and you’re going to fix it.”
My breath hitches at his even tone and cold dead eyes. He knows what I did. How? “What did I do?”
His nostrils flare as he bends down until we’re eye to eye, and for the first time, I get to see the rage and the crazy that resides deep in his eyes.
“You stole my fucking money!”
Which time? Asking that question is a quick ticket to the grave, so I shake my head. “I never took any money from you.”
“Bullshit,” he spits angrily. “For such a smart girl, you’re a terrible liar.”
I open my mouth to dispute this fact, but Hector is having none of it.