Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Liv opened the door and stepped back.
Black boots stopped in the threshold. The door opened all the way, and a bath towel landed on the floor. Mr. E kicked the terrycloth until it was wedged beneath the crack, propping the door open. “Van’s phone is somewhere in this house. Where is he?”
Josh’s blood pressure spiked. There went their plan to lock him in.
Her heeled boots shifted a step backward, her silence constricting his chest. If Van planned to kill his father, he certainly wouldn’t have told the bastard where he was going or what he was doing. Why wasn’t she answering him with some kind of lie?
Josh raised his chin as subtly as possible, and his breath caught in his throat.
Mr. E wore his cotton jumpsuit and that god-awful canvas mask. His body angled toward Liv. She stood a few feet away, staring down the barrel of his semi-auto pistol.
Josh locked his jaw in a painful clench, his entire world a trigger-squeeze away from death. His fight response pummeled at him to attack, hardening his muscles and heating his veins. Timing would be everything.
A tic bounced in her cheek as her fingers stretched along her thigh, dipping into her boot and grasping her gun. “I’m not Van’s babysitter.”
The pistol swung, colliding with the side of her head. She fell to one knee, and her gun clattered on the floor.
Josh jerked so hard one of the chains fell loose from his wrist cuff. It clanked behind him, drawing the mask’s eyeholes in his direction.
She lurched for her gun and collided with Mr. E’s boot as he kicked it toward the shower stall.
“You gonna shoot me, you fucking whore?” He shoved the barrel beneath her chin, forcing her to lift on her knees. “Where the fuck is Van? You’ve got one second to answer. One—”
“Dead.” Her eyes burned, wide and fierce.
The compulsion to protect her wracked Josh with indecision. His pulse raced. No way could he level his gun before Mr. E fired.
Mr. E crouched and shoved his canvas mask into her face. “I don’t believe you. Last chance.” His gloved finger began a slow squeeze of the trigger.
A tremor gripped Josh’s spine as her throat bobbed against the press of the barrel. Her fingers curled against her thighs. “Your son cleared out his room before I killed him. Go see for yourself.”
Oh, God, Liv. Josh tightened his grip on the gun.
“You’re dead,” whispered from within the hood. In that everlasting second, as Mr. E’s finger pulled the trigger and the hammer released, Josh plummeted, gutted. Lifting his arms, he met his breaking point with a single-minded focus to join her in death and take the son of a bitch with him.
His heart roared with fear for her as he snapped his arms forward, clattering the chains and aiming the gun.
Mr. E’s semi-auto clicked, a jarringly quiet sound. Josh stopped breathing. It clicked? The pistol jammed? It misfired! OhGodOhGod, thank you, God.
Liv swung her arm, knocking the barrel from her neck, and Josh trained the .22’s sights on the mask. He squeezed the trigger as Mr. E jerked his hand to readjust his aim. Both guns fired.
The double boom pierced his ears. He choked on his terror as Liv’s eyes widened, her hand cupped around her neck. No, no, no. She couldn’t be hit. He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and forced his attention on the threat.
Mr. E’s pistol dropped. Red spouted from a hole in his canvas-wrapped neck, and he collapsed beside her. Josh had aimed true.
He scrambled toward them, his pulse thrumming in his throat. “Liv? Are you hurt?” He kicked Mr. E’s pistol, skidding it across the room, and pulled her hand from her neck.
Milky, unblemished skin stretched against the delicate lines of her throat. She glanced at the ceiling, and he followed her gaze. The bullet hole marring the sheetrock sank a surge of relief deep into his lungs. His eyes ached with the aftermath of jumbling emotion, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her.
The masked head twitched on the floor. Josh clenched his fist, vibrating with the need to take away the last of the man’s power. He found the ties on the back of the canvas hood and yanked it off.
Silver striped through thinning black hair. Bags of wrinkles hung from pain-filled eyes. The older version of the man in the news articles worked his jaw, unable to drag in a breath.
She leaned over the police chief, her nostrils flaring. “Van flew to the Keys and tried to save my mom.”
His eyes flashed, and his head rocked side-to-side.
“That’s right, cocksucker. And he came back to kill you.” Her voice strained with tears.
Kneeling beside her, Josh uncurled her fingers from Mr. E’s jumpsuit.
The man’s jaw opened and closed soundlessly, red trickling from the corner of his mouth. From the neck down, his body lay limp. Maybe the bullet damaged his spinal cord. He was definitely choking on his own blood.