Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“If I think about this a second longer, you die here under this bridge, you piece of shit.”
Closing his eyes, he speaks another language and slowly slides one foot toward the van. Letting up on my gun, I allow him to climb into the now empty seats. The driver of the van looks at us with worry on his face. His hair is long and beard even longer. Kieran climbs into the passenger seat, looking at the driver with a menacing look, a gun in his hand.
“Take us to the ring. Now,” Kieran tells him, pushing his gun into the side of his head.
“Just do it!” Joba hollers with panic.
Luna
Driving into the darkness away from the city, I don’t recognize anything as we head toward the ring. It’s so dark not even the moon is shining. I can’t take my eyes off of Joba. He’s so small and a weakling of a man. How the hell did he become head of such a thing? My hand itches to grab his scarf and strangle him right here, to hear him cry and wail so loud it drowns out the women I’ve listened to every night for the past four years.
Gideon follows close behind us, until lights just ahead make the pit of my stomach sit uneasy. There it is. Hell. An old shoe factory left abandoned, now turned into an underground slavery.
We pull up to a chain-linked fence with barbwire along the top, lights shining down from the roof to help escort us into the garage, we slip inside without a problem. All the guards must be inside. The driver pulls the van right into the area where the cage sits with most of the guards. Hunched down so my head doesn’t hit the roof I open the doors and jump out, the smell of body odor and piss bring me back. Romeo pushes Joba out at gunpoint.
A man wearing dark cargo jeans, a sweater, and a black scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face comes up to Joba with an unreadable look, confused at what is going on. I recognize him instantly, he’s one that makes the girls blow him for extra food and water. I just called him freckled face guard because that’s all I ever saw of him.
Raising my gun, I aim and shoot. A bullet lodges right into his skull, and it also alerts the other guards of who the fuck is here.
The sound of a gun going off in the van has me quickly looking behind me finding Kieran getting out and adjusting his tie, the driver now leaning against the driver’s door, blood all over the window.
The girls scream, some of them jumping on the side of the fence yelling for me to save them. Gunfire goes off, the sound of bullets ricocheting off the metal of the building. I duck behind the van, trying to see where it’s coming from.
“By the side of the cage, there are two men who sit there and play cards,” I tell Romeo, and he takes a breath, stands, and walks out.
He fires his gun left, then right. Kieran comes out of God knows where and begins to shoot behind him and beside him. They both look like something out of a movie with their gun holsters and suits, shooting the bad guys without a worry that they might get hit with return fire. The smell of blood and gunpowder overtakes the sick women in the cage and I notice I’m still hiding behind the van. Now is my chance to free them.
Still ducking so I don’t get noticed, I go behind the van and sprint to the cage where they keep a door locked with a deadbolt. Raising my gun, I shoot it, and it falls off to the concrete with a thud. I open the gate, and women come sprinting out, nearly running me over, others hide in the corner unsure of what to do. This is all they’ve ever known and don’t know where to go. I was one of those women not so long ago. Going inside, chills ride up my back, my eyes sweeping to where my cot used to be, I can’t believe I’m back inside voluntarily. The ground is wet, probably from piss, there’re blankets wadded up on the floor where women were trying to keep off the ground, and empty jugs of water. I pass a crate holding a bottle of pink nail polish. I frown, thinking about what that cost a woman.
A moan has my neck snapping to the left finding an old lady in the corner. She’s scared to death. Walking to her, I squat in front of her.
“You’re free. You can go,” I tell her softly.
Grabbing the hand of an elderly lady, I help her toward the opening of the cage.