Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
I have known him a long time, yet have never before seen the anger that is now showing in his eyes.
“If you would just fuck the bitch in the basement and then kill her, maybe your head would be where it’s supposed to be,” Eli’s voice meets my ear. I turn my head to the side to see him approach.
Letting go of Mack, my hands clench into fists as my patience for bullshit flies out the window.
In a second, my hands are wrapping around Eli’s throat. He might be just as big as me, but I’m faster.
“She is mine to do with as I please. I wasn’t aware that you had a problem with her. Do you have a problem?” My eyes narrow as his face goes pale when he realizes he should have kept his mouth shut.
When he doesn’t answer me, I squeeze harder, my fingers digging into his flesh. Nothing matters to me anymore, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. His eyes bulge out of his head, and I can hear his body gasping for even the tiniest shred of oxygen. The noise pulls me from my mind, and I release him. I’m a monster, a horrible person, but I’m above killing my own kind.
He sucks in a breath and then another as he stands there, the life coming back to his eyes.
“Would you have really killed me over such a pathetic comment?” he asks in between breaths. I ignore his question and head straight to the security room. No one is manning the desk, and fiery rage fills me. What is the use if no one is here to fucking do as I say?
Letting it go, for the time being, I focus my attention on the monitors. The cameras don’t show a disturbance, but the alarm is going off, which means even if the intruders aren’t seen, they are still out there.
“Fuck…” I pound my fist against the table. Eli is right, my head is not in the game. She is getting under my skin. She is distracting me. Making me think crazy fucking things. Things that I can never, nor should I ever, think about.
I need to handle this on my own. Taking a few calming breaths, I feel as if everything is finally back into place. I head toward the back door and out into the darkness. I’m a hunter searching for his prey. My eyes adjust to the darkness, and my body fills with tension as I ready myself for a fight.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” I sing, my voice that of someone I don’t even know. The wind blows, and the moon shines brightly down on me as I stare up at it. How confused and fucked up, am I?
A twig snapping in the distance brings me from my thoughts, and it is then that I see the shadow of a man looming by the perimeter wall. If he thinks he is getting away, he has another thing coming.
With precise movements, quietly and stealthily, I sneak up on him. His frame is large, but from his heavy breathing, I can tell it isn’t muscle he is carrying around.
The moon illuminates the sky, but not enough to get a good look at the guy. Crossing the short distance between us, I reach out and grab his shoulder, turn him around quickly and push his body against the brick wall.
Reaching for my gun on reflex, I realize I forgot to grab it. I never forget it. Amara. She’s got my mind in a haze.
Ah. Fuck it. Hand to hand it is. Looking at the guy, I am not really worried. His face is heavy, and his eyes hold a secret that I plan on getting out of him.
“Who the fuck are you?” I growl. I’m six…five…no, about one second away from ripping his fucking face off.
“I…” he starts. I can see the fear and feel it coming off him. I may have even got a whiff of piss.
“Did you just piss your pants?” I yell in his face. Spit escapes my mouth and clings to his face. He doesn’t even move to wipe it away.
A whimper escapes his lips, but that isn’t good enough for me. A whimper isn’t an answer.
“I’m going to ask you nicely one more time. WHO THE FUCK SENT YOU?” My words vibrate within me. My teeth clench as my body begs to unleash hell on this fucker’s ass.
“I work….” Well, we are making progress—two fucking words are better than one, but it isn’t the answer I want.
Gripping him by the throat, I rip the knife from my ankle, where I always keep it and press it firmly against his throat. Blood trickles from the cut, but I am not done. I will be bathing in his blood by the end of this if he doesn’t provide me with answers.