Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46674 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I’ve tried to outfox Dad’s men a few times, and it always ends this way, with a locked door and an implacable expression.
I know I’m not going to convince Snaps to open the door, so my only choice is to wait.
“Come on,” he murmurs under his breath.
He sticks his head out of the window again.
“Fellas, what the fuck is—Oh, shit.”
He quickly darts back into the car and puts it into reverse.
It takes me a second to realize what’s going on.
A gruff-looking man with a shock of tangled black hair – covered in blood as though to pretend he’s a corpse – is circling three of my father’s men.
He has the fourth man pressed close to him as a human shield, a gun aimed at his head.
My heart drums loudly in my chest.
My first instinct is to flee, but when I grab the handle, of course, it’s locked.
The car starts to back up—
Pop-pop-pop-pop.
Four gunshots ring out, surprisingly quiet. I scan the surrounding area – the otherwise quiet road, the rolling hills, the trees, and the darkness – and finally, I spot two men emerging from the forest and one man climbing out from behind a bush on the other side of the road.
“They’ve blown our fucking tires,” Snaps growls. “Jesus Christ.”
“What do we do?” I say shakily, struggling to hear Snaps or myself or even my thoughts over the incessant drumming of my heart.
Snaps glances at me in the rearview, his frowning wavering. His expression tells me everything I need to know. There’s nothing we can do, not when they already have one of our men hostage and three men are approaching, two of them pinning their sights on the car ahead and the last one – a grinning balding man wearing a dirty leather jacket and holding a gun with a silencer – stalks toward our car.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, pal,” he grins at Snaps, tapping the silencer of his gun against the glass, tap-tap-tap, like rain.
I almost laugh at the thought.
It’s raining gunmen.
I try to bring my thoughts into some sort of order, but they scatter and strangle me in panic.
All I can do is stare as the balding man turns his leer to me, wisps of damp hair spiraling, making him look old and oddly babyish at the same time.
“I think it’s time you climbed from the car, little lady,” the man grins.
Up ahead, the two gunmen who got the drop on my father’s men are already corralling them near the trunk of the car. The one with the human shield strips him of his weapon and shoves him roughly so that the three of them can surround our men. Then, as the two aim their guns, the third quickly searches them for weapons and starts tossing them into the forest.
“And you,” the man goes on, nodding to Snaps. “We’ve done this nice’n clean, but I’m ready to make things ugly if you want it to go like that.”
“You’re just going to shoot us the second we get out of the car,” Snaps says, shaking his head. “So that’d be a fuck no.”
“I can shoot you when you’re in the car just as easy, pal,” the man snarls.
Snaps and the man stare at each other for a moment, and then the man laughs grimly.
“Motherfuckers,” he growls. “Bulletproof, eh? Fair enough.”
He turns his gaze to me, his beady eyes roaming over my body. I find myself leaning back and pulling the sleeves of my hoodie down, feeling as if I’ve slipped into some warped nightmare.
I want the hoodie to swallow me and let me disappear.
“Here’s how it’s gonna go, little lady,” he says. “For every thirty seconds you stay in that car, I’m going to kill one of your daddy’s men. If your driver or you tries to call anyone, I’m gonna kill one of your daddy’s men. Sound good? Good. And by the way, the timer’s already started. I’d say we’re at about ten seconds. So make up your mind quickly.”
I stare at the men, huddled together, looking weak and far more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen them. I remember laughing and joking with them when I was younger. I remember all the times Mom and Dad would have them around for dinner, and how they smiled and laughed with their wives and their children.
I can’t be responsible for their deaths.
I won’t.
“Snaps, open the door,” I say shakily.
“No fucking way—”
“Open the door,” I yell, smacking the back of his seat with the heel of my hand.
“I can’t do that, Aida,” he snaps.
“Twenty-five seconds, Aida,” the man says, the way he says my name making my skin crawl. “Better make up your mind …”
I dart my hand out to the window switch and press the button to lower it.
Snap reacts quickly, slamming his hand down on the override to send it buzzing back up.