Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I fight the tears in my eyes, because as terrified as I am, I'm even more terrified of not being able to see what he might have planned for me next.
When he leans in close again, I pull a deep breath into my lungs and attempt to scream as loudly as I can. But even if the gag wasn't rammed into my mouth as far as it is, the party going on downstairs makes it impossible for anyone to hear me. This is literally what nightmares are made of.
This gag has to be the most inhumane thing I can think of. If I could talk, then I could beg. I could ask him why he's doing this or assure him that there's no need for this. I could promise him whatever he needs so long as he lets me live.
But I don't think the man has any intention of listening to any sort of pleading.
"I want you to get Morgan up here," he says, his words sounding indifferent, as if he couldn't care less if I help him, as if either direction I choose will still end the same way, no matter what.
I shake my head, muttering against the gag that I'll never help him hurt my friend.
His eyes narrow behind the mask, and I hate that he's too much of a coward to show me his real face.
Unless not seeing it might be the only thing that keeps me alive, so I can't identify him later.
He leans in closer, and only then do I sense the coolness of metal at my throat.
"You'll do it or I'll slit your throat and watch as you bleed out. What will that perfect husband of yours think then, huh?"
His words make me freeze.
Is there any way out of this where no one gets hurt? Is it possible that this works out where Morgan doesn't get hurt and I still get my happily ever after? Although it's only been a short while since I realized I might get one, it's something I want to cling to.
Tears stream down my face, but I can't waste time feeling weak because of them. It would take energy that I don't have.
It hits me right in the gut that this may have everything to do with the raid on the warehouse. Dima or someone in his crew could've somehow figured out that Ellis and his team were part of the ones who took him down, and this is the fallout from it, making this one hundred percent my fault.
As much as I'd like to be the hero who takes the brunt of all this, I'm just not brave enough. The hopeful side of my brain thinks I can reason with this man. The logical side knows better, but even she isn't listening right now.
I begin to mumble, explaining what happened, trying to come up with lies on the spot, but it's no use. I'm a horrible liar and the gag is still firmly in place.
"Where's your fucking phone?" he growls, the threat of the knife still at my throat.
I shake my head, refusing at first, but the nip of pain as the knife pierces my skin has me darting my eyes toward the bag on the floor.
He takes a step back, but I can't breathe any easier without the threat of a knife at my throat.
He turns it toward me and somehow my face opens the phone even with tears streaking down my face and a gag in my mouth.
I once again plead with him, but it's no use.
He searches through my phone and finds her contact, a new number she just gave me the other day because of the trouble she had with that blind date guy.
Fear sweeps over me once again, heightening every sense which is a miracle, considering how high they all were already.
This has to be him, the guy she was arguing with on the front porch last night, but it doesn't make me feel any better that this isn't my fault because it probably won't change the outcome.
My phone chirps in his hand, and I have no doubt it's a return text from Morgan. When he drops the phone back to the floor, telling me that he knows for a fact he won't need it again, I know my best friend is on her way, heading right up the stairs to sure death.
I have a flash of what might happen next, and I have to wonder what would be worse… if he killed me first or waited to kill me after forcing me to witness her death.
I doubt the man is going through so much trouble just so he can have a conversation with her.
Any sane person would know that doing something like this doesn't end well for at least someone involved.
His eyes dart toward the door, but the jolt against the hardwood clearly isn't the sound he was hoping for.