Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Shit.
Plastering my back against the wall, I try to think through my panic. I have no idea what’s happening out there, but I can’t stay to find out.
I have to run.
I’ll grab the other phone, call Roch, and sneak out the back. I can make my way to the beach via the secret path and use the bike to escape to the village. Hopefully, by then, Roch would’ve figured out a way of warning Angelo.
There’s no time to dress in something warmer. I sprint to the dressing room and grab the first jacket my hand falls on. It’s one of Angelo’s jackets, but I don’t stop to find something more suitable. I only pause long enough to fit a pair of sneakers without socks. Making my way down the stairs, I pull the jacket on in the run. The nights are still freezing cold. It would be stupid to risk it outside in nothing but a thin T-shirt.
The ground level lights are on, but the blinds are closed. I skid to a halt in the lounge and go down on my knees in front of the air vent. Hooking my fingers through the gaps in the metal lid, I pull. Damn. It’s stuck. I yank so hard I nearly tear off a nail when I fall back and land on my ass. Blood pools under the nail that’s lifted off the nail bed, but I barely feel it. I look around frantically for something to use. Nothing.
Shit, shit, shit.
Taking a calming breath, I try again. I wiggle the lid until it gives in one corner. Finally, the cover comes off, hitting the floor with a clang. I jerk at the noise. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. I feel inside for the phone, but in my haste to grab it, I only shove it deeper into the vent.
Fuck.
Something strikes me then. I stop to listen. The gunfire has gone quiet. Only an eerie silence stretches.
Almost hyperventilating with fear, I stick my arm into the vent and extend it as far as I can. Finally, my fingertips brush over the rounded edge of the phone. I stretch until it feels as if I’m tearing my arm from its socket and finally manage to close my fingers around the phone. I’m pulling it out with a shaky hand when the deafening sound of splintering wood explodes in the space and the front door falls inward with a bang. Cold air gushes inside, and then, quietness.
I slam a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from screaming. My body trembles convulsively as I make myself small behind the sofa, but my shadow falls under the side table over the floor.
Please, don’t let them see me.
I repeat the silent prayer as I try not to breathe for fear of making a sound. If they go upstairs, I can run through the door.
Heavy footsteps fall on the floor. The first person is followed by a second and a third. It sounds like three men and big ones judging by how hard their soles are pounding the wooden boards. It’s impossible to remain calm, but I force myself to act, to push the on-button on the phone and wait for the screen to come to life.
The worst mistake I made was not familiarizing myself with the functions. It takes me another three seconds to find the caller list. My fingers don’t cooperate. I’m shaking too much to type a message on the press buttons.
“Check upstairs,” a deep voice says. “You go that way. She must be inside.”
Oh my God.
My torn nail immobilizes my finger with pain. I press on Roch’s number but miss twice before getting it right. I almost forget to turn down the volume before the ringing of his phone gives me away. The beat of my heart is like the hooves of a horse trampling my chest as I dare a peek around the sofa. Two men in black combat gear are making their way up the stairs. The third is heading toward the guest bathroom at the back.
I’m so scared. I just want to hide here and hope they don’t find me, but that’s a futile wish. It’s now or never. Clutching the phone tightly, I take a deep breath, count to three, and make a run for it.
My sneakers are quiet on the floor. A shudder slithers down my spine in the few seconds that I’m exposed, but then I’m in the kitchen. Just as I’m about to unlock the door, it crashes open with a loud thud, hitting me so hard on the forehead that sparks explode behind my eyelids.
I stumble, my back hitting the wall. The phone drops from my hand and slides under the table. For a moment, I’m disoriented and dizzy. I’m fighting the urge to sink to my knees. To be sick. The pain is blinding. White spots pop in my vision as I blink to clear my eyes. The face that comes into focus is square with harsh lines. Black eyes. Thin lips. Deep grooves. Shaved head.