Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
My final thought has me pulling up his number and dialing as I head to the elevator. It rings and rings until it eventually goes to an automated message, telling me the person I’m trying to reach isn’t available right now. “Come on,” I murmur, stepping into the cart, dialing him again.
The doors close, and he answers. “James,” I breathe, so relieved just to hear his voice. “You don’t have to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Whatever you’re doing. Killing whoever you’re killing. You don’t have to do it.”
There’s silence, and I know he’s probably wondering who’s got a gun to my head. But clarity has arrived, and I need to keep it.
“Let’s just go somewhere,” I say. “Anywhere. Away from Miami. Away from America.”
“Are you serious?” he asks, not sarcastic, more daunted.
“So serious. Let’s just get on a plane and go.”
“I . . . leave . . . people . . .” His words crackle and break. “. . . Beau.”
“James?” I say, circling on the spot. “You’re breaking up.” I check my cell, seeing the service has dropped. “Shit. James?”
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, but you’re fuzzy.” I look up at the screen above the door, watching the lights for the floors illuminate in turn as I’m carried down to the first floor.
“Where are you?”
“In the elevator.”
There’s a brief silence, and I wonder if I’ve lost service again. But then he speaks. “Beau, why are you in the elevator?”
“Goldie’s having Starbucks delivered. She can’t leave the foyer so I’m going to collect it from her.”
“What?” he bellows.
I jump, pulling my phone away from my ear. “I—”
“I fucking told you not to leave the apartment,” he seethes. I can literally feel the fire of his temper down the line.
“A coffee.” That’s all. He’s overreacting.
“No. Beau, she’d never ask you down there. Stop the—”
“What?” I murmur, looking up at the screen above the doors again.
Five.
Four.
I look to the buttons on the panel, hitting anything and everything before me, glancing up at the screen.
Three.
Two.
“Beau, stop the fucking el—” James breaks up again, as I frantically smack at the buttons.
One.
“Shit.” I try to hook my fingers around the locked service door to access the emergency buttons, but the damn stupid cast won’t allow me to bend my fingers.
Ding!
I shoot back against the wall as the doors slide open, and I come face to face with Goldie.
And behind her, Nath.
With a gun aimed at her temple.
I reach for the wall of the elevator to steady myself, my throat clogging with fear and dread. “What are you doing, Nath?” I whisper, my eyes bouncing between them.
“Come with me,” he says, looking stressed. Sweaty.
Guilty.
“Don’t go,” Goldie orders, her eyes daring me to defy her.
“Get out of the elevator, Beau.” Nath jerks the gun in Goldie’s temple, making her eyes shut, and I step out immediately, raising my hands in that pacifying way people do when there’s a gun be brandished around.
“I’m getting out, Nath,” I say calmly. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing?” He shoves Goldie away and grabs me, pulling me into his chest, backing out of the foyer. “This is fucking madness,” he mutters. “All of it.”
He’s a man on the edge. “Where are we going?” I look out the corner of my eye, seeing the gun still aimed at Goldie.
“Get in the elevator,” he says to Goldie, and I watch as she looks across to the floor where her gun lays on the ground, torn. We both know she won’t make it to her weapon before Nath has a chance to pull the trigger. She’s cornered. “Get in!”
She backs up, her expression cut with frustration.
“Press the button for the top floor.”
She slowly reaches to her right and the beep of a button being pressed sounds. Moments later, the doors start closing, and the last thing I see are her nostrils flaring.
“Let’s go,” Nath says, releasing my back from his chest and taking my arm. I turn and come face to face with the hood of his car, the doors into James’s building, or lack of, smashed to smithereens around us.
“What have you done?’ I ask, my feet crunching across the shattered glass as he guides me into the passenger seat, shutting the door and rounding the front, dropping into the driver’s seat. His gun is placed in his lap. The safety is engaged. Something’s amiss here. I stare at his profile, my mind turning in circles, and I’m jolted forward when he reverses fast, reaching up to wipe his brow.
He drives erratically, and half the journey is spent with me silent, trying to untangle the mindfuck going on, as well as ignoring my vibrating phone. “Nath, what’s going on?” I eventually ask, and he looks across the car at me like I might have just stepped out of a circus.
“You’re in danger, Beau.” He returns his attention to the road. “Why didn’t you answer my messages? Did you watch the footage I sent you?”