Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Okay.
Management stuff?
True.
His ability to handle a weapon?
Not true.
At least not according to the target hit photos he showed me from being at the range with Slater.
“The day it was announced Lenkov would be filling the role was the last time I saw my father alive.”
There’s no preventing my jaw from dropping.
“He drank the entire bottle of Wilcox we were going to drink together in celebration – alone – for dinner and then got into his car in the closed garage to treat himself to a bit of carbon monoxide poisoning for dessert.”
More shock settles on my shoulders.
“They took my father’s pride,” Ivan announces as he rises to his feet, clearly in need of walking off the emotions. “His confidence.” He moves a few steps closer to me around the table dividing us. “His job.” Plopping down on the edge of the furniture directly in front of me is both horrifying and helpful. “And then finally his fucking life.” I lock eyes with him during his lean in, which is obviously an intimidation tactic. “Why poach from the same company I left?” An undeniably vile beam spreads across his face. “Because they poached everything from my family.”
Now, that’s an oversimplification.
And petty.
We’re talking about hiring a lookalike to star in your music video about your famous ex so that the whole world knows exactly who you’re talking about level of petty.
Nothing good ever comes from shit like this.
He’s about to learn that the hard way.
I stomp on the very edge of his dark boat shoes, crunching his toe with all the force possible, causing him to bark in pain and jerk further forward. After sucking in a small bit of air to brace myself for the pending sting, I once more, use all the strength I can muster up to slam my head into his. This time Ivan flails backwards and over the table allowing me an open opportunity to take off running. While I have no idea where to go or where to hide or how the hell to get help, I know I have a better chance to figure all that shit out away from the Jason Bourne villain I royally pissed off months ago.
Sprinting along one side of the ship is carelessly done. Between the choppy waters rocking us and the same water creating a slippery terrain, I slide into the wall. The metal railing. The wall again. Regardless of how much wind gets knocked out of me, I scurry towards the end, anxious to round the corner into unseen territory.
Just as I prepare to swing around the edge of the deck, the brown skinned armed guard who dragged me out of the vehicle earlier appears. Confusion barely registers before he’s retrieving a weapon to point in my face, yet rather than risk wrestling over it – not the most probable choice given his size and my stature – I spin on my heels to dart the direction I left, begging my Gym Class guardians that I am not the star that’s about to get shot down.
Two wobbly strides are all that get completed due to Ivan stepping back into my pathway.
Torn in two over both dead ends leads to me glancing at the railing to the ship.
Going over isn’t a great option.
And drowning is an even less viable one.
Unsure of where to go or how to react leaves me paralyzed in place long enough for Ivan to clip me in the bicep, bullet grazing my skin just enough to further incapacitate me on a body shaking scream.
Crumpling against the very railing I probably shouldn’t have entertained climbing over occurs during my captor’s announcement, “Next one will be a kill shot, Carmicheal.” He aims the gun higher to reiterate his seriousness. “I told my investors – who had become shaken with your tactics at finding me – that I would show them our problems were solved firsthand – hence capturing you and summoning Wahl here; however, I’m fairly positive I can show them your corpse and give them the same reassuring speech to illustrate my point.”
New ropes of panic wind themselves firmly around my throat cutting of my ability to speak.
“Farr,” Ivan calls to the bulky male gradually approaching, “tie her up again. And this time?” His frigid gray lettering scrapes my cheek on its way by. “Do it like you fucking mean it.”
Chapter 16
Slater
“Yeah, I remember, Rosenkrantz,” Seventeen loudly announces over the fueling of the nearby helicopter. “Great operative.” He swipes the screen of his tablet, flashes us his photo, and skims the info further. “According to his files, he’s a retired Marine. Has some of the highest kill rates in the company.” Another scroll is followed by a displeased hum. “And some of the highest casualties as well.”
“That’s not good,” Blu mutters under his breath.
I briefly cut my stare away from the vehicle being prepared for us. “What else?”