Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
I saw the spot just above the dumpster where a bullet had taken a chunk out of brick.
I saw the casing on the ground.
My stomach twisted as I got to the edge of the dumpster.
There was no body sprawled out.
There was no one.
I wasn’t sure if it was hope or dread that was stronger.
Maybe she was smart, didn’t listen to me, got away.
Or, yeah, maybe the bastard grabbed her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I flew down the street, looking for footsteps in the slush on the streets, for huffs of hot breath in the cold air.
Something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
I circled back, helplessness spreading through me, making my saliva go acidic.
It was just then that I heard it.
A shot.
Then another.
And another.
That was four shots so far.
From what I could tell, he was using a 9mm subcompact. That meant he had roughly six to ten bullets.
Another shot.
But no screams.
How was she not screaming? Knowing I would come?
I had no idea.
But there was one thing I did know: that the sound was too muffled to come from outside.
They were in a building somewhere.
I moved backward toward the sound, scanning the buildings, trying to figure out the most likely one she’d have dipped into to try to hide.
I pulled doors as I ran.
But everything was locked.
Then, like a fucking beacon in front of me, I saw it.
A partially renovated building.
There was a chain-link fence around it, but the gate was thrown wide.
Even if the doors were locked, she could have possibly used the scaffolding to get inside on the second floor.
As I started to run, there was another shot.
Six, right?
That could be it.
Or there were four left.
It was anyone’s guess.
One thing was for sure, though.
Steph was still alive if he was still shooting.
Hope soared as I grabbed a piece of rebar before running toward the door.
The door wasn’t even fully latched.
And on the ground beneath me, before the darkness inside swallowed the evidence up, there were wet footprints.
Bingo.
Everything inside me wanted to run, to charge into whatever the situation was. The other part forced me to take it slow, to rein in my impatience.
I needed to be smart.
The inside of the building was disorienting. Most of the windows were blacked out with old newspaper, creating nothing but cavernous darkness.
I forced myself to focus on keeping my footsteps quiet as I moved through the building, painfully aware of how the sound could carry in a big, empty space. The last thing I needed was this asshole to know I was coming and to be lying in wait. Especially if he still had bullets.
I was cocky enough to know I could win in any fight, that I’d always walked away from every altercation I’d been involved with. But there was no amount of instinct that could save you when staring down the barrel of a gun.
My blood was rushing through my ears.
I was shocked I could hear anything past it. But as I neared a set of stairs to go up a floor, I heard something toward the back of the building.
I doubled back, taking slow, deep breaths, and adjusting the rebar to hold it like a bat with both hands.
I put one foot in front of the other, forcing myself to take my time even as a slamming sound got louder and louder.
As I drew closer, I could hear a grunting sound that had my stomach clenching.
Fuck it.
There was no more taking my time.
I flew forward, expecting the worst.
But it was just the guy with both his hands on a door handle of a square cinderblock room.
I didn’t stop to think.
I blew at him.
Something crunched under my feet as I rushed forward. So when I swung, he was quick enough to scramble back, making me catch him in the thighs instead of the knees, which I knew would debilitate him and allow me to overpower him and swing the rebar until his fucking head burst open.
Then it could all finally be over.
Stephanie would be safe.
For good.
A yowl of pain escaped the guy as he moved back another step. Then another.
I ran forward, swinging out again, landing a blow to his stomach. But when I aimed higher at his head, he threw up his arms to block it.
My foot kicked something that slid across the dusty floor.
The gun.
It was just a few feet from the guy’s foot. Judging by the way his gaze slid to it, yet he didn’t lunge for it like a lifeline told me I was right; he was out of bullets. Or it jammed. Either way, it was of no use to him.
I advanced again, swinging.
He ducked, and the rebar swooshed through the air just an inch from his damn head.
Squatting down, he charged forward, coming at me low and sending us both flying to the ground.
I landed hard, the air knocked out of my lungs as pain moved across my back.