Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84928 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I paid attention when we passed street signs just in case, on the off chance that I got away, I could call the police and tell them where I was. Jefferson turned into Anderson which turned into Madison. That was when Luis said something in clipped Spanish to the driver, who nodded. I was suddenly really annoyed that my father ran off and my mother was too drunk to teach me Spanish. That would have come in handy. But whatever was said made the driver slow the car and duck his head slightly to look at the buildings. He pulled out front of what looked like a old apartment building, looked at Luis, said something else in Spanish, his brows drawn together as he waved toward the building. Whatever was being said didn't sound too happy, but Luis shrugged a shoulder and moved to open his door.
All I could think as I looked out the window at him was how ridiculous he looked, how out of place. He had on cream-colored slacks and a white, short-sleeve linen shirt and brown sunglasses on his eyes. Dressed like that standing outside of a building that looked like it hadn't had any work done in the better part of thirty years, he looked downright laughable. At my sides, both guards went out their respective doors. The one on my right turned back in toward me as the one on my left slammed his door and rounded the front of the car.
Alright, even as I was doing it, I knew it probably wouldn't lead anywhere, but I couldn't bring myself to simply be a good little hostage either. So I turned in my seat, bringing my legs up and slamming them full-force into the bent body of the guard then scrambled backward for the other door, ripping it open, and tearing out onto the street. My bare feet slapped on the pavement, the heat a searing sensation that I ignored as I ran blindly down the street, screaming so loudly the sound racked through my whole body.
I heard the shouts behind me and knew just enough Spanish to know they were curses as I tore down a side street that ended up not being a side street, but an alley, the kind that didn't have a way out.
A hysterical shriek ripped from my throat as I spun in a circle, looking up for anything I could lift myself up with. But there was nothing. I was trapped. Then there was nothing because I was crashed into from behind and slammed up against the brick wall, the pain instantaneous and blinding for the second of consciousness I was granted before oblivion stole me away.
--
The pain was what woke me up. I had been drifting in the black sea of nothingness, feeling calm and happy, only to have my perfect peace interrupted by the nagging impression of pain. My eyes flickered open and the 'impression' of pain became an all-encompassing thing. I was pretty sure my brain was somehow slamming up against the inside of my skull over and over, the sensation so strong I felt it like a piercing through my eyes, making me feel suddenly more nauseated than I had ever been in my life.
I closed my eyes again on a groan, moving to bring my hands up to cradle my head when I realized I couldn't because they were tied around whatever was pressed up against my back. My eyes snapped back open, ignoring the pain the light through the windows was causing, and angled my head up to look behind me. It was an exposed brick beam holding up the ceiling. The sharp edges of the bricks on the corners were slicing into my forearms and my shoulders were screaming at the awkward position.
My legs were free and I pulled them inward and up under my butt, pushing myself up off the floor, biting my lip to keep from crying out as the mortar between the bricks sliced long lines across my arms. Standing, I could see out the line of windows to my left. Some were broken; all were covered in years worth of grime, dulling the blinding afternoon light. How long had I been out? It couldn't have been later than eleven when I was taken. But the way the sun was pelting down at the world, it had to be closer to two or three in the afternoon.
The room itself wasn't what I had expected from the outside. It looked like an apartment building, but the floor I was on had been gutted. All that was left was the exposed brickwork, the beams in the ceiling, and the windows.
I heard a creak and footsteps, taking a deep breath that was both to calm my nerves and an effort to keep the bile down as I turned to see Luis walking toward me, his movements as polished and purposeful as I remembered, his posture straight, his hands clasped behind his back, his gait unhurried.
"Darling," he greeted, still crossing the floor that was littered with forgotten items, like maybe people had been squatting there. "You've been out for almost two hours; I was getting concerned."
I fought the urge to tell him that maybe he shouldn't have let his goon slam me into a wall then. "My head hurts," I said instead, and it did. I swear the pounding could be felt all through my jaw at that point.
Luis stopped in front of me, his lips pressed together as he looked at me. His hand raised and brushed down the side of my face that had collided with the wall. "I bet it does. I'm sorry about all of this, Amelia."
"The splitting migraine or the kidnapping?" I snapped, wincing at myself. I didn't know much about being a hostage, but I did know you were supposed to try to not tick them off.
"Both," he said, shrugging. "Darling, you must understand that I had to come and get you."
"Why?" I asked, and it came out a bit like a whine.