Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Through the kitchen window, I saw sudden movement. The SWAT team was still coming up with a plan by the stairs. How many minutes had passed? I should’ve been looking at the time. My heart raced. If they broke down the door, she would die. I knew she would. Rocco tapped the side of his gun slowly with his other pointer finger, as if counting down.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Pause.
Tap.
He shifted his shoulders slightly. I stopped looking at him and turned to see a man walking out back holding Rosie’s arms, which were tied behind her body. Some of her long dark hair was sticking to the side of her face, her expression anguished. Rocco switched on the red light, and I held my breath again. The person holding her was young, definitely one of Anthony’s guys. If this was his message to me, he’d succeeded. Seeing the woman I loved like this was already killing me.
37
ROSIE
There’s a moment during catalytic events when time suspends. Some people say your life flashes before you. Others say you see a white light. Some claim it was nothingness. Peace. Ten years ago, what I felt was grief. Pure and utter grief. The kind that sunk its claws in the middle of your chest and squeezed. The kind that made you bleed out. This time, I felt nothing. I was struggling to get free after the guy who’d been watching us pulled me up and started dragging me out of the house. I struggled to break free, looked back at my brother and father who were tied at the wrist and ankles, and screamed. When I realized that no matter what I did, he’d pull me out of the house, I told them it would be okay. I couldn’t hear my own voice, but I hoped they could.
Outside, he dragged me down the steps as I continued to thrash against him, pleading, begging him not to take me to Anthony. That was where he was taking me. I knew it. One minute he was walking me across the yard, the next he was pulling me down to the ground with him. He broke my fall, but somehow when I landed, half of his body shifted over me. Time suspended then. I waited for the panic to set in, for my hearing to come back, for Anthony to walk back here and take me or shoot me between the eyes, the way those men had done to my mother, but nothing happened. No sound, no movement, no bullet between the eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I just lay there, underneath the kid. Even without being able to see his face, I knew he was dead, and it did nothing to appease me. I pushed my face onto the lawn to get my hair out of my face. My hands were still tied behind my back, and I wasn’t sure how the hell I was going to get out from under him.
In the movies, in the shows, people untied themselves. They found a surface or a tool or pulled hard enough and were able to get free. I couldn’t. I used the strength in my legs to kick sideways. It took a while, but I kicked again and finally was able to roll away from him. I used my core strength to bend my knees behind me and stand. My knees were shaky, though, and hit the ground immediately. I looked at the guy who’d been dragging me out of the house and saw the small hole in the middle of his head. I sank back on my heels and stared at him in disbelief. He looked too much like my brother, like family, and somehow looked even younger now. Too young to be doing this. Too young to die. His brown eyes were wide open, mouth parted as if he didn’t even have time to react. Faintly, I heard an animalistic sound as sobs raked through me. The sound of grief, the feel of it. Grief was what made my chest heave as I sat there, taking deep gulps of air that I couldn’t seem to get enough of. I cried for him, for his family, for the cards we’d been dealt and what he’d chosen to do with his. I hiccupped a shaky breath and wiped my face the best I could with my shoulders.
When I stood up again, I was determined to walk back to the house. Dad and Santi were tied up and left behind, but they’d been tied at the ankles too, so they wouldn’t be able to move. I was almost to the stairs when a force stopped me. Strong arms, I realized. They were wrapped around me and holding me back. I screamed, kicking and thrashing. A man wearing a SWAT uniform appeared in front of me. I screamed again, screamed at them to get my brother. The one behind me didn’t let me go. I could see their lips moving, but I couldn’t hear a thing. Not a thing. I looked at the back door and saw Santi walking down the steps on shaky legs, a SWAT person holding him up. I kept looking at the door. Kept waiting for Dad, but he never came. I started to shake hard again. They untied my hands and let me go slowly, still holding me up, but no longer squeezing. My wrists felt like they’d been set on fire. I walked toward my brother and cried into his chest when he wrapped his skinny arms around me, chest shaking against me so hard, I could feel his ribs. If he was talking to me, I couldn’t hear him. The only thing I could think about was how much he looked like the dead boy. The boy who could have been our brother, our cousin, him. That made me cry harder. My brother held me tighter.