Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Before I can even think to ask what’s happening, he levels me with a terrifying look that makes ice pour through my veins. He grabs an old rag from the floor, and leaning over me, he forcefully gags me before tying it behind my head. Distressing sounds spill from me, sounding muffled from the rag biting into my lips.
What do I do?
Oh, God. What do I do?
Shit.
I don’t know what to do!!!
My eyes sting from unshed tears as shock keeps hitting me in tidal waves.
I try to figure out where the van is taking me and hope Dad’s being taken to the same place.
God, please don’t let them hurt Dad.
Are they going to kill us?
Why?
Is this a kidnapping for ransom?
Shit!
My mind reels, and panicked thoughts rush through me, making me dizzy.
The van keeps speeding, taking sharp turns that toss me around on the seat, and when it finally comes to a screeching stop, I fall forward.
The man catches me, and when the side door slides open, I’m forcefully shoved out of the vehicle.
Wildly, my eyes dart around, and it looks like I’m in some kind of warehouse. To my left is a wall of crates, and in front of me, I see an office space where a man’s sitting behind a desk, his eyes on me.
There are groups of men gathering to my right, and some sit at tables covered with guns. There are also open crates filled with all kinds of weapons.
Jesus.
The other van pulls into the warehouse as I’m shoved forward. I keep glancing over my shoulder as the man grips my bicep, forcing me to walk as he drags me toward a set of metal steps.
I watch as two men pull Dad out of the van while he struggles against their hold, trying to break free. Seeing Dad fight, I rear back and manage to break loose. I run toward Dad, but a moment later, I’m grabbed from behind again, and my feet leave the floor as I’m lifted into the air.
My side is tender from all the exertion and manhandling, and I worry about my kidney. I’m not supposed to do anything strenuous for another three weeks, and this is as freaking strenuous as it gets.
I hear Dad’s muffled shouts, his eyes wide on me with shock and worry.
We’re hauled up the steps and shoved into a room. I stumble into a concrete wall, then Dad’s thrown onto the stained floor.
A second later, the door shuts, and I gasp through the shock of the terrifying situation we find ourselves in.
I’m unable to process anything, and nothing makes sense.
My eyes lock on Dad as he struggles to his feet, and my breaths come faster and faster until my chest burns.
“Daddy,” I whimper around the dirty rag that tastes like oil.
I glance at the steel table by the one wall, an empty stained bucket, and all the marks on the concrete floor. I think some might be from blood.
Jesus.
Dad moves his head from side to side, straining against the rag in an attempt to get it off his mouth. “Skylar.”
He rushes to my side and glances frantically around the room before his fear-filled eyes meet mine.
A tear sneaks over my cheek until it disappears into the rag.
Suddenly the door opens, and my eyes grow twice their size as Dr. Bentall is shoved into the room.
Four men follow him inside, and one of them comes to grab my arm. I try to resist as he pulls me to the middle of the room, where I’m shoved down to my knees.
Oh God.
My heart beats so freaking hard I swear my chest shakes with every beat.
Dad is forced to kneel on my right side and Dr. Bentall on my left. I glance between them, seeing the same horror in their eyes that’s filling every inch of my body.
One by one, they remove the rags from our mouths, and my tongue darts out to wet my dry lips.
The moment Dad can talk, he begins to plead, “Don’t do this. Please. Let my daughter go. She’s innocent.”
Slowly, I turn my head to look at Dad because it sounds like he knows why we’re here.
“Shut up,” one of the men snaps as she slaps Dad against the side of the head.
Two of the men leave, and the remaining two pull guns from behind their backs, where they are tucked into the waistband of their pants.
“You’ll remain kneeling and only speak when spoken to,” one of them orders.
My knees begin to ache from digging into the cold concrete, and my body trembles like a leaf in a shit storm.
I hear calculated footsteps approach the room, and a moment later, a man walks in, his demeanor predatory.
Recognition has my eyes widening again, and I stare at the man who’s been watching me. The one who cornered me in the restroom last night.