Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 730(@200wpm)___ 584(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
The asshole has the audacity to laugh as I try to choke him. “Are you done?” he questions, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down over my wrists. His hand comes up and with a quick flick, his fingers break straight through the duct tape at my wrists and the momentum of suddenly being free as I pull back against his throat has me falling back into the seat, sprawling out across the soft leather with a loud oomph.
His laugh infuriates me more.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I screech, quickly trying to right myself. “Do you really think this is funny? Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”
“Babe,” he chuckles. “You’re humiliating yourself enough on your own, you don’t need my help.”
My gaze narrows as I reach across to try the door handle, only to get absolutely nowhere. Though what the hell was I going to do if it opened? Roll out onto the middle of the highway while traveling a million miles an hour? Yeah, fuck that. I know I have a bad habit of being reckless, but that’s even pushing it for me. Though, the road rash and a few broken bones might be worth it just to get away from Carver.
I fall back against the seat, my arms crossed over my chest as I feel my inevitable end creeping closer and closer with absolutely no way out. “Fuck you,” I snap, hating just how easily he was able to put me right back under his hold.
Carver sighs and pulls off the side of the road and into the parking lot of a small diner. The SUV comes to a stop out front and it takes me all of two seconds to realize just how secluded this place is. There are only two other cars in the lot and I can guarantee that one of them belongs to the cook while the other is most likely the underpaid waitress who probably wishes she could be anywhere but here.
“Wow,” I say, glancing through the front windshield at the dodgy diner. “What a perfect place to finally take me out. You’ve always been one for theatrics. How do you want to do this? Do you want me to try and escape so you can get a kick out of chasing me through the kitchen with a knife, or are you just going to go with an old-school bullet through the head at the counter trick?”
Carver turns around, a heavy scowl on his face. “Shut the fuck up with the dramatics. I’m not going to fucking kill you. I stopped so we could get some lunch. After all, you need to have energy if you’re going to bitch and whine at me for the rest of the day.”
“You’re such an ass.”
“Don’t act so surprised,” he mutters, cutting the engine and pushing out the door. I watch as he walks around to the back passenger door and pulls it wide. Carver reaches into the car and grabs my ankles, tearing them up onto the backseat and smirking to himself as the momentum has my body flying back against the chair.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” I spit, trying to pull my legs free and sit back up at the same time, but Carver’s grip is too strong and instead I just end up looking like a fish out of water, flopping around on the back seat of the expensive car.
Carver scoffs at my performance and pulls a knife from … I don’t know where, and for a slight moment, my heart sinks. This is it. I’m going to be killed in the backseat of a stolen SUV … at least, I assume it’s stolen.
If I knew this is how I was going to go, maybe I would have stayed back at King’s cabin and allowed myself to perish in the explosion. At least that’s a better story than this shit.
“Would you hold still?” Carver snaps. “I don’t want to cut you.”
I pause, my brow raising. “You don’t want to cut me, yet you have absolutely no issue trying to blow me up? Holy shit, Carver, do you ever hear yourself? I always knew you were fucked in the head, but I didn’t realize that you were that stupid.”
Carver just groans and presses his weight down over me, seeing as I refuse to keep still on my own. The tip of the blade lowers toward me and in one smooth flick of his wrist, the knife slices straight through the remainder of the tape.
Carver climbs off me and I stare at him in confusion.
What the fuck is going on here?
“Come on,” he mutters, stepping away from the open door to allow me space. “We’re going to go inside, order some burgers, and talk.”
My brows furrow as I scoot closer to the open door while trying to peer around him for some kind of escape. “Talk?”