Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
"Okay," he agreed, lip quivering.
"Everything is going to be okay if you stay here and stay quiet," I told him, reaching out to touch his head.
I knew I couldn't really make that promise, but I needed to give him some comfort before I abandoned him.
And I had to abandon him. I had to lead them away from him.
Stomach clenching as I heard the door crack, I rushed into my room, grabbing the first weapon I found. Which was, unfortunately, a pocket knife. But something was better than nothing.
Rushing through the bathroom and into Avi's room, I found his bat sitting propped up beside the door.
Tucking the knife away, I grabbed the bat instead, liking that I wouldn't have to get as close to whoever it was.
Taking a deep breath, I stood just inside Avi's doorway, waiting, then jumping out and swinging hard to someone's midsection.
I didn't have time even to try to recognize him before he was folding forward, trying to catch his breath.
Adrenaline surging, I cocked the bat back again, ready to swing in a direction that would seriously injure, not just slow down, when a hand shot out of nowhere, grabbing the bat, mid-swing, pulling, and tossing behind him.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
My hand went for my knife before I saw two other men move in behind the one who'd taken my bat.
Those weren't good odds even if you had a gun.
I was never going to get away with just a knife.
"So, who wants the broken nose, and who wants the busted fingers?" I asked. Then, while they took a second to digest that veiled threat, I charged forward, slamming the heel of my hand under the shortest guy's nose, feeling the warm gush of blood, hearing the rush of obscenities, but not pausing for even a second as I danced away from arms reaching for me. I grabbed that hand as I spun, though, twisting as I heard a crack.
If they wanted to take me, I knew logically that they could do it.
But that didn't mean I was going to go without a fight. And the more damage I did to certain parts of them, the less damage they would do to me.
"Get the bitch," one of them snapped as I pushed through a gap between two of them to make my way toward the living room.
It was then that they all turned to me.
All of them.
No one was going to look for anyone else.
No one wanted Avi.
There was a rush of relief so strong it nearly brought me to my knees.
But then the realization kicked in.
If they hadn't been aiming for Avi at the skate park, and if they weren't looking for him now, then this wasn't about him, likely wasn't about the Costa Family either.
No.
This was likely about me.
And my Family.
My gaze moved around as I flew through the living room toward the kitchen, grabbing the biggest knife out of the drawer, waiting for one of them to come closer, so I could thrust it outward.
"Crazy bitch," the closest one snapped as the blade of the knife sliced down his arm.
"Enough," another, deeper, voice growled as he walked in, stepping over the prone body of Salvatore on the ground just outside the doorway.
He strode confidently inward.
When I thrust out with the knife, his hand easily grabbed my wrist, twisting, and slamming the side of it against the edge of the counter, sending shooting pain through it as he dislodged the knife from my grip.
"You," I hissed, looking up at him, recognition hitting.
"Yeah," he agreed. "Me," he added as he produced a gun, holding it by the muzzle, and whipping me hard enough across the side of the head that everything went black.
Chapter Seventeen
Alessa
The chopping noise was what woke me up.
Steady and irritating.
And sending shooting pain through my aching skull.
Pistol whipped.
I'd been pistol-whipped.
Like some cheesy-ass gangster movie.
That was humiliating.
On a groan, my eyes fluttered open, leaving me slow-blinking at a drop ceiling. There was a semicircle of water damage in the furthest corner near the steel door with a small glass window.
There was something vaguely familiar about it, but with my screaming head, it was hard to force any buried thoughts to the surface.
I had to focus on tangibles.
The oddly soft surface I was on.
A mattress, but a shitty one.
My hand went down, finding thin metal bars. A cot.
When I tried to fold up, gaze on the door, on the freedom beyond it, I was jerked back down onto the mattress by the handcuff on my other wrist, attached to the bar below the mattress.
"Damnit," I hissed. "That stupid, arrogant, cock-sucker," I growled, yanking against the handcuff.
"Are you always such a sweet-talker?" a voice called from behind me, just out of sight. But not for long. He moved past me. All six-feet-six inches of him. Clad in black slacks and a black shirt. He made his way around the cot.