Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Taking slow, deep breaths to steady myself, I crawled across some narrow, slippery metal beams before I came to what I was seeking. The end of the elbow of the ductwork, the end that my friend assured me would pull off so HVAC guys could access the inside if they needed to.
With that, I pulled it off, the metal biting into my fingertips, then I climbed in, surprised how tight the space was when it looked so huge.
My friend had failed to warn me of something else about the ducts.
That the metal was unpredictably sharp in places, cutting into my hands and legs as I crawled, making me have to press my lips together to keep from crying out as I felt the blood start to trickle down my skin, likely mingling with all sorts of nasty shit accumulated in the ductwork throughout the years.
Thankfully, I’d had a recent tetanus shot.
But I was going to need to clean the shit out of my wounds to avoid infection.
I’d only crawled maybe a yard or so when I heard it.
The sound of male voices.
Surprisingly close, given how high the ceilings were.
But the ductwork had lots of little vents into each room, so that was likely why the voices carried.
Holding my breath, I climbed as close as I dared to their sounds, then reached for my recording device, and turning it on as I held it to the vent.
My heartbeat was thrumming so hard in my ears that I honestly didn’t hear a fucking thing they were saying. I didn’t need to. Nor did I want to. I couldn’t imagine these assholes would be saying anything I wanted to hear. I just needed to get as much of a recording as possible, then get my ass safely back out of this place.
That was it.
The job would be done.
It wouldn’t be my fault if the client didn’t get anything useful out of the recording. That wasn’t the agreement.
I don’t know how long I sat there, arm outstretched, muscle starting to twitch with the strain.
My wounds on my hands and legs had their own pulse now, a throbbing sensation that paired with the burning of open, dirty cuts.
It would all be worth it, I had to remind myself.
Especially if my client was going to make a move on these guys because of the information I’d gotten for him.
When the male voices drifted off, I turned off the device, tucking it safely away.
I waited, wanting to be sure no one was left behind, possibly hearing me as I started to move again, this time more clumsily than before, since I was backing up, unable to see where I was going, or what was behind me.
I knocked over one of my shoes at the end of the ductwork, making my pulse shoot into overdrive as I waited, making sure no one heard and came running.
I didn’t slip them back on, just grabbed one in my hand and one tucked under my chin, and felt backward for the steps to the ladder.
Then I moved down them, small bits of the tension leaving me as I went.
The ductwork was the scariest part for me going in. And it was done. The material I was hired to collect was secured.
Now?
Now I just needed to make an exit.
Keep myself calm and collected until I was sure I wasn’t followed, then drive.
The drive would calm my nerves, get my head on straight. Then I could go back to the office, clue in Josie, clean up, and go home.
It would all just be an ugly memory in a few days.
I slipped my feet back into my shoes in the little storage room, not even bothering to put the ladder back up, not wanting to chance the noise again now that I was so close to being done with this awful job.
I took all of ten seconds to try to yank my dress down to wipe some of the blood off my legs, then rubbed my arms against the black material that would hide the stains as well, before making my way back toward the loading dock.
I was rushing.
Ready to be done.
And, therefore, not paying attention.
Careless.
But I didn’t know that.
Not until I felt hands reach out to grab me, pulling me up right off my feet, and slamming me against the unyielding steel walls of the loading dock, my head hitting it so hard that my vision swam for a second.
“Where the fuck you think you’re going?” he snarled as one of his hands released me, only to shoot out and close around my throat. Not enough to knock me out, just enough to be really fucking painful as my head started to feel light, and my thoughts a little sluggish.
I had just remembered my bracelet when I felt his other hand slam into my face, the pain exploding across my cheekbone, then the whole side of my face.