Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 56267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56267 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“What is going on?” I demand. I don’t want to be hurt or seen as weak, so I put on a brave face and try to act tough and unafraid. Before I can blink, the gun that was by his hip is pointed directly at my head. Oh shit. This guy means business. Serious, deadly business.
My breath catches in my chest. What the fuck is going on here? I come home from college and am staring down the barrel of a gun?
“Get out of the fucking car and don’t ask questions,” the man gruffly orders.
I shut my mouth immediately. I mean, a fucking gun is pointed at my face, so of course I’m going to do exactly as I’m told. For now, at least. I turn my Jeep off and slowly push the door open, hoping it will encourage him to ease off of me a little bit. However, it just made him angrier.
With his free hand, the man yanks my door open as quickly as he can. For a moment, all I hear is the creaking from the rust build up.
I slip from the car with ease, my eyes never leaving him. What happens next is right out of a fucking movie. He grips the back of my head, pulling my hair. My scalp burns with his attack, and my eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Let go of me!” I demand, going loose in his hold. I won’t allow whoever the fuck this person is to hurt me. His grip tightens, and I feel cold metal against my lips. My eyes grow as big as saucers the second I realize the barrel of the gun is against my lips, his finger on the trigger.
“Zerro has come to collect his debt.” A sick smile crosses his face, and had I not been so incredibly terrified, I would’ve puked all over the ground. In that instant, I realize that whatever is about to happen isn’t going to be good.
With the barrel still against my lips, I am afraid to even ask what debt he is talking about. When Mom died, her life insurance policy left Dad and I enough money to get by. We weren’t rich, but we weren’t struggling either. Dad always told me our finances were fine. This man must have the wrong family, and he will be sorry he treated me this way when he realizes the truth.
The gun slips over my bottom lip as lust and hunger fill his eyes.
“Zerro will have fun fucking every hole in your body. Then when he’s done with you, and you’re ready to be killed, I’ll fuck you one last time…”
I sneer at him, anger building deep within me. Why does this man think he has a right to say such cruel, nasty, vile things to me? And who the hell is Zerro?
“I don’t…” I begin to respond hotly.
“Shut your mouth!” he roars, his grip tighter as he pulls me up the steps to my home. The front door is kicked in, hanging on one hinge. Fear courses through me, making the anger I had been feeling just seconds ago disappear.
As we round the corner through the kitchen, my mouth almost falls open. I stare in disbelief at the scene in front of me: appliances ripped apart, cupboard doors hanging loosely on their hinges, food and other items strewn haphazardly around the usually immaculate room. It looks like a tornado has gone straight through the house! Pushing me forward, the man and I come to a halt just on the edge of entering the living room. My heart beats out of my chest when I hear my father’s voice and see the puddle of blood on the floor.
Please, tell me that isn’t his blood. Please. I want to cry out, begging and pleading…
“I am so sorry! I didn’t have a choice, Bree!” my father chokes out when he sees me. There is a man holding him in place in one of the wooden dining room chairs. I want to cry as I take in his swollen face, the blood dripping from his lips, and the bruises that are already forming around his eyes and on his cheeks. His hands are tied securely behind his back, his wrists bleeding. I desperately want to go to him and comfort him, protect him from what is happening. My dad looks like he hasn’t shaved, showered, or changed his clothes for quite some time. He seems to have stopped taking care of himself. The man sitting before me is just the shell of my father. The man before me is tired, worn out, broken, defeated, and hopeless. What the hell happened to my inspiring, courageous, easy-going, fun-loving dad? I was only gone for a few months! How could this have happened? Why didn’t I know what was going on?
“Everyone has a choice, John,” a deep, rich voice chides from somewhere. I look up as the man behind the mystery voice descends the stairs, his eyes landing on me. There is an evil coldness in his stare that makes my heart skip a beat. His hair is dark and styled in a way that says he doesn’t give two fucks about what anyone thinks. He wears a suit that looks like it cost more than the farmhouse. His chin is sharp and held high as if he believes he is above everyone else.
“I swear to you, Bree, I didn’t have a choice. The bills were piling up: the mortgage, utilities, insurance, tuition… There just wasn’t enough money for everything. The bank was going to foreclose on the farm, and your school was threatening to take action against you. The idea that you would have to drop out of your classes was killing me. I had to protect you and our home. I had no other choice.” The words achingly and sorrowfully flow from him. It is difficult for any man to swallow his pride and admit he has problems.
I still wasn’t sure what was going on, though. I know we never had “extra” money to spend, but Dad always said it was okay. He told me that we always had enough to make ends meet. Anger surges through me as I realize he lied to me.