Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Holden pulled the door closed behind us, shockingly loud in the quiet space.
There was a TV on somewhere further down the hall.
I followed it to find a cracked door and a man sitting on a chair, a woman on her knees before him.
Bile rose up as I took a steadying breath, willing my footsteps to be silent as I moved forward, thankful for the loud cheering of the football game, allowing me to move directly behind the chair.
The movement caught the girl's attention, making her stop the act she was being forced to perform, eyes bulging, gasp sucking inward.
Her surprise worked in my favor.
The man turned to try to look.
The tension made the blade slide into his neck like butter.
"It's okay," I murmured to the girl as she scrambled backward across the dirty floor, hands grabbing for her own throat, worried I would turn my blade on her. "It's alright. We were only here for the men. We are going to get you girls home," I added, watching as the words landed, as they sank in.
I could tell the moment they did because her entire body started quaking, a hysterical hitch catching in her throat.
"Got some shirts," Holden mumbled, digging through a backpack near the door.
"Here, put this on," I told her, holding out a tee that would at least offer a small bit of modesty.
While she shrugged into the tee, my gaze went to the man, his brilliant blood covering his neck and chest.
I wasn't sure where the urge came from, but my gloved finger moved out, sinking into the plasma, then moving toward the wall.
F was X.
It was a sort of vanity to want to mark your job like that. And I knew it was always smarter to stay as anonymous as possible. But I couldn't seem to help myself.
"We got to go before more clients show up," Holden reminded me as we led the girl back to the other room where we handed out shirts and blankets.
"Take this phone," he said, speaking to the tall woman once more, now much more comfortable wearing an old white tee that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. "Call the police after ten minutes, okay? Can you give us ten minutes?"
"We need to get away," I added, willing her to understand how important this is. "So we can keep taking out monsters like these."
"Ten minutes," she agreed while one of the other girls lowered to the floor, cradling her knees to her chest, rocking as she sobbed.
I wanted to believe they all had loved ones at home, people who could help them recover, love them through their path to healing.
I knew it was naive.
I knew that some of them would likely be on their own, would have to fight their demons alone.
But anything, I was sure, absolutely anything was better than being stuck here until they were no longer useful.
"Let's go," Holden demanded.
When we hit the front door, we took off at a dead run.
Holden was stronger, but I was leaner, able to keep up as we made our way back to the car.
I grabbed the black bag he'd placed under the wiper blade, slipping our gloves into it, my jacket, my outer shirt.
Holden had the foresight to wear black, hiding the bloodstains he sported.
My heart was in my throat the entire ride back to his place, sure we were going to be found out, positive cops would pull up behind us, lights and sirens spelling out our doom.
It was almost hard to accept that we'd gotten away with it when we finally pulled up to the garage.
"I have to clean the clothes. Detail the car. You get some rest," he told me, dismissing me. "Hey, kid," he called when I was about to slam the door.
"Yeah?" I asked, feeling a little buzzy, a little foreign in my own skin.
"You did good. You got what it takes," he added. "Get some sleep."
With that, he pulled away, door slamming on its own as he went.
It took a long time for the shock to slip away, for my mind to seem to be able to grasp what had happened on a rational level.
I couldn't bring myself to move inside, feeling a layer of filth coating me from head to toe.
I took myself to the hose, finding the bar of soap I hid in a plastic container beside it, stripping out of my clothes, and scrubbing every single inch of me.
Two times.
Three.
Ten.
Fifteen.
I lost count.
But I knew I had to stop when my skin felt raw and sensitive.
I walked like that, stark freaking naked, back to the garage, going inside, locking myself into my room, and lying alone on my floor mattress, still feeling the grime all over me.
It was many hours later that I realized it would never go away.
It was a part of me now.