Total pages in book: 19
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 74(@250wpm)___ 62(@300wpm)
He whimpers his understanding.
“Hey, pal,” I call out in the direction of the scared child. “My name’s Wahl and-”
“Like WonderWahl?!!?” His head instantly pops out around the branches. “Your name is the same like him?!”
“Yeah.” My smile is genuine. Sincere. “I’m actually his big brother.”
He gasps at the same time he scrambles to his feet, tripping over them in the process. “He has a big brother?!”
“You’re lookin’ at him.”
“Ohhhhh!!!! Do they call you SuperWahl because he’s WonderWahl?!”
They should call me SuperWahl.
Or maybe just Kolby.
Wonder how much that’d piss him off.
“I don’t have a brother,” the kid openly admits as he creeps closer. “I say ‘Mom, I want a little bother’ and she says ‘Oakley, no you don’t.” He openly laughs and shakes his head. “She’s funny.”
Grateful to have his name without him even realizing it widens my grin. “Sounds that way.”
“Do you play hockey?!” He enthusiastically asks now directly at my side. “Dad says WonderWahl’s job is to protect him like a wall. You do that? You protect people like a wall?!”
“A different sort of wall,” I slyly answer on a small snigger. “But this Wahl, jus’ like WonderWahl is a new friend of your mom’s. That’s who she was talkin’ to when this bad man took you, right? My brother?”
“I think so!” He excitedly bobs his head so much his round glasses begin to slip. “Pretty sure! Yeah!”
“Can you do me a favor, Oakley?” Grinding my foot further into the man’s abdomen occurs courtesy of me digging into my jean pocket with one hand. “Can you sit on the sidewalk right next to me, face the mall doors, and use this Dalvegan Dragon green Play-Doh to make me some Christmas trees?”
“Yeah!” More excitement floods his gaze during the transferring process. “I can use my thumbs to make ornaments!”
“Or even lights.”
“Ohhhhh!” This time his trembles are from elation, the way they should be. “That’s gonna be so cool!”
“Can you also sing me your favorite Christmas songs?” He flops down on the ground beside me. “At the top of your lungs? The loudest you can. We’re talkin’ Mrs. Claus can hear you allllll the way at The North Pole!”
“Sure!”
Oakley immediately begins screeching, sound equally ear splittingly hurtful as it is helpful.
“That’s better,” I mutter prior to dragging my foot the length of the assailant’s leg to step on the bullet wound. The instant it’s there, I forcefully push it into the sidewalk, not with the intention to break it, but the acceptance that shit happens if it ends up that way. “This’ll help stop the bleeding for now, young man.”
The male unhappily whines again.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen next.” My pistol stays pointed at his face. “I’m gonna ask you some questions, and you’re gonna give me some answers. Understood?”
“I’m gonna bleed to death!”
“Not if you answer in a timely fashion.” Horror hops into his eyes, encouraging my crooked smirk to return. “You lie to me? And I’m gonna stomp on your leg. Try to lie to me? And I’m gonna stomp on your leg. Lie by omittin’ somethin’? And I’m gonna stomp on your leg. Keep me away from my family any longer by wastin’ my time?” Grating my heel back and forth across the open wound has him shouting so loud I almost can’t hear the kid’s mangled Mariah Carey impression. “And I’ll turn you into a partridge hung from a pear tree.”
His throat noticeably quivering acts as my signal to begin.
“Name?”
“Jeremy. Jeremy Howard.”
“Was this a special-order shoppin’ trip?”
His eyebrows pull together in obvious confusion.
Alright.
So, this wasn’t someone on the Black Market looking for a specific child to make their own.
“I’ll take that to mean no.”
There isn’t even time for his mouth to twitch in response.
“Was this a harvest order?”
New waves of disgust dart through his glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you, man?”
Me?
Like I’m the one snatching up children in department stores on Christmas Eve?
“People don’t do that shit!”
“They do it all the time. Harvesting children’s organs isn’t as lucrative as that of adults, but it’s still more than a drop in the bucket.” The lack of emotion in my tone deepens his repulsion. “Was this a traffickin’ attempt?”
“No.No.No.No.No!” He quickly shakes his head. “Fuck no! I don’t do that! I would never fucking do that! This wasn’t that! Definitely not that!”
“Then what was this?”
The kidnapper’s hesitation to answer has me slamming my foot down on top of the injury, smearing additional red on the bottom of my shoe. “Fuckkkkkkk!”
Oakley prepares to turn around when I suggest, “How about Rudolph?”
Sounds of police sirens in the distance have me even more anxious to interrogate the prisoner before they arrive.
“Can you sing me that one too, pal?”
“Still loud?!”
“Super. Duper. Hockey game loud.”
A giant gulp of air being sucked in precedes the dramatic start to the new carol.
Locking eyes with the male underneath me, I state, “I’m not a man who likes to repeat himself, Howard.”