Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Pain explodes around my temple and eye, but I whirl on him and land a blow to his cheekbone. His eye. His head. Over and over, until the lights go out. Part of my instinct—to stand up and unholster my gun—I fight away. Pulling out my Glock has to be a last resort.
Pulse pounding, I shift off the unconscious Fucker.
Near the elevator, the Shitbag is groaning and clutching his broken nose. “Fuuuuck.” He’s still out for the count.
But the Prick wheezes from the much earlier windpipe blow and struggles to his feet.
The Bastard also remains. He’s already recovered from my uppercut—for how long, I don’t know. The knife. The knife is gone. Disappeared off the floor.
Akara is wrestling the Bastard, and I start to sprint to Akara’s aid when the Prick charges for the stairwell door.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Backtracking fast, I shove him, ram a fist in his face, and at the same time, he nails my ribcage with all his weight. I lose breath.
I cough.
We’re on the floor.
We’re on the floor? Mother of…he’s kicking. I’m gripping. I pin my forearm to his neck. He flails, and all I’m thinking is, Akara, Akara, Akara, Akara. The Bastard he’s fighting is armed. I think he might have the knife.
In one swift move, I unholster my gun in a tight grip and point the barrel right between the Prick’s eyes.
He goes slack beneath me.
“You try to take my gun like this is a fuckin’ action movie, and I’ll blow your brains out.” I think about knocking him unconscious.
Just as I make a move, Akara calls out in a wince, “Wait.”
I barely shift my gaze off the Prick.
The man that Akara has been wrestling—he’s now facedown on the carpet. A knife is deep in his back. My pulse hammers in my ears.
He’s…not dead. I see him twitch and moan in pain.
Pressure eases off my chest just as Akara speaks.
“Who sent you?” Akara bends down to the Prick pinned under my weight.
I let up on his throat so he can reply.
Fear bleeds through his eyes. He’s not armed like his friend. “Who didn’t?” the guy says, a tremor to his voice. “You know how many people are betting on her not medaling? Low odds pay high.”
Sickness slams into me, and then I slam my fist into his face.
He coughs up blood.
Akara shoots me a look. What? I did what he probably wished he could do. I glance at Akara’s waist. Blood soaks his white button-down. He still has a hand pressed against the knife wound. Urgently, I tear off my own shirt and toss it to him.
“Tell whoever is paying you,” Akara says, wadding up the fabric against his waist, “that if they send someone else to try and hurt her, I’ll be coming for them next. Do you fucking hear me?”
He squeaks out, “It was just supposed to be a broken arm or a leg! We weren’t going to kill her.”
“Tell that to the fucker with the knife,” Akara hisses in anger.
He mumbles something to me like, “Can you stop pointing that at me?”
You were going to hurt my pregnant girlfriend. You’re lucky all I’m doing is pointing a gun at you right now. I’m not having a full-blown conversation with this prick.
I knock him out and stand off him.
“Sulli,” I tell Akara.
And like a godsend, security for GBA News that’d been on the rooftop suddenly appear at the other end of the hallway. Akara is so quick to order them to call the cops. To detain the four men that are left, and they listen fast. And we’re not waiting around for reporters to show.
We’re not waiting around for police.
We have to go.
We have to catch up to Sulli. We have to meet her down in the parking garage before the elevator drops. Are there more men in the lobby?
In the parking deck?
Are they waiting for her?
We’re both running to the stairwell.
“Hey, hey,” I shout at Akara as we race down the first flight. “You need to walk, Nine. You’re losing too much blood.”
My wadded-up shirt is bright red.
“Better yet, sit down. I’ll be back for you with Sulli.”
Akara shakes his head. “No.”
I stop him. Literally, I stop right in fucking front of him. He walks into my chest and we both almost tumble down the stairs, but I grip the railing.
He glares and tries to push forward. “Banks, we don’t have time for this!”
“Yeah, we don’t!” I shout back, veins popping in adrenaline, and I hold his arms. “You’re not helping me or her if you’re on the fucking ground, so sit down. Don’t make me fight you.”
Pain crests his face. He’s afraid for Sulli. He wants to shield Sulli. He wants to pull her into his arms. I know this because it’s thumping against my soul like an extra heartbeat.
“I don’t tell you to do much, Akara. I’m telling you now; I need your ass on this stair. Please.”