Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111416 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Dread filled her chest and narrowed her throat as she stared at two of Russo’s soldiers.
She quickly assessed the situation.
She’d been set up. And she fell for it.
She fucking fell for it!
She tried to scramble away from them on her elbows and knees. She needed to roll onto her back and go for her concealed weapon. But as soon as she reached toward her ankle, a boot pinned her right wrist to the floor. With the amount of pressure he was putting on it, if she struggled, she might find herself with a broken wrist and unable to shoot with her dominant hand.
While she was accurate with her left hand, too, the chance she’d miss might be slim but enough of a risk she’d prefer to wait until the moment was right.
Not only did she need to shoot to stop the threat, if she was going to pull the trigger, she wanted it to be worth the hassle that went along with an agent-involved shooting. Even if it was justified.
Right now these assholes didn’t know she had her Glock or they would’ve removed it from her. If luck was on her side, she also might not be aware of what she did for a living. If she was really lucky, they only knew her as their late boss’s goomah. A woman who kept her mouth shut and did only what she was told.
Them being in the dark gave her the upper-hand. As would acting like a scared woman unable to defend herself.
“Who are y-you and w-what do you want?” she cried out, fear thick in her voice, when in reality she was fuming. She hoped by being loud when Fletch approached the door, he’d hear her tone of voice and at least have some warning.
The last thing she needed right now was him walking into this situation unknowing and unprepared.
Her eyes flicked to the door. Fuck, they had locked the damn thing. And one of them must have pulled the key from the deadbolt because she spotted it on the floor just outside her reach. Not that it would do her any good.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
With the door locked, Fletch wouldn’t be able to slip in unnoticed to help her out of this jam.
The shorter, older soon-to-be-a-dead-man jabbed the gun in his hand toward her and ordered, “Sit up!”
From what she could see, the man she immediately labeled as Asshole was palming a Sig Sauer P226. If she was right with the identification, she knew that model didn’t have a traditional safety, similar to her Glock.
She sat up and held out her palms in surrender, making sure they shook. “Don’t h-hurt me. Please. I’ll do anything… anything you want, just don’t hurt me.” She tried to squeeze out a tear to make her fear look genuine, but her anger was running hot just below the surface, making it impossible.
It was anger at herself for failing to realize the call was a fucking trap, anger at Frank Russo for pushing her to the point she had reacted in a way she never should have and anger at the two rancid turds standing over her.
Both of them needed a double flush to rid the world of their stink.
Dipshit, the taller, heavyset goon warned, “You try anything fucking stupid, you’ll regret it. Our only order was to bring you back alive and able to speak. That’s it. Believe me, we know how to keep you just alive enough to do that. You don’t need to be pretty or in one piece to answer questions. That means I strongly suggest you cooperate. If you do, this will go easier for you.”
Oh yeah, like she believed that fucking lie. Her middle finger was itching to spring into the upright position.
Instead, she pulled in a long breath and whined loudly, “C-can you… put the guns down? I… I c-can’t think when you have them pointed at me.” She sniffled like she was about to sob. “Please. I’ll cooperate. I swear!”
“Stop fucking yelling! Bring it down a few notches before you attract the neighbors’ attention. I promise you don’t want that. It wouldn’t be good for you or them.”
“S-sorry, I’ll… be more quiet.” No, she wouldn’t. “But you’re making me nervous with those g-guns. They scare me.”
Asshole ignored her plea and kept his gun pointed directly at her forehead. “The boss wants to see you, Naomi. Or… is it Nova Wilder?” His bushy eyebrows lifted.
The blood drained from her face at hearing her real name but she managed to keep her expression fearful and not surprised. How the fuck did they find out her real identity? “Why would Frankie want to see me? I was his father’s g-girlfriend, not his.”
Some skill was needed to hit a moving target. If she dove for her ankle holster, he’d most likely miss her. But Dipshit had his gun drawn, too, even though he now held it down at his side. Despite that, if he was a good shot, she’d be dead not even a second after she plugged a hole in Asshole.