Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89934 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Despite living in the area her entire life, the street wasn’t one she recognized, but it only took about fifteen minutes to drive to and find the address with the help of GPS.
Frowning, she steered through the parking lot entrance, a wide gap in a ten-foot-high chain link fence adorned with barbed wire. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, taking in her dismal surroundings.
The place was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse with graffiti all over the exterior walls, a stack of tires, and a fifty-five-gallon drum beside a dented metal door. She’d rather die than peek inside the drum. If television had taught her anything, someone bigger than her could fit inside along with a vat of acid.
She shivered as she navigated a maze of deep potholes, not eager to take out her tires and screw with her car’s alignment.
“There’s no way this is right. There isn’t even a place to leave this.” As an estate lawyer, Oliver’s day-to-day didn’t lend to meetings with nefarious clients, but that was the vibe this place gave off. She felt like a character in a suspense thriller waiting on a CIA handler or mafia boss.
No more TV for me.
The faster she got out of the car, the faster she could finish this chore and return home to her beer.
And her blessedly empty house.
She grabbed the package before exiting the car. When her sandals hit the cracked pavement, a chill ran up her spine. The air, thick and hot as always in a Florida summer, felt still and stagnant. No sounds greeted her ears—no birds chirping, frogs croaking, or bugs humming. It seemed the local creatures knew this place was dead and stayed as far away as possible.
“Thanks, Oliver,” she muttered as she walked toward the building. She watched every step to avoid breaking an ankle in a pothole. “Hello?” she called as she strode toward the door. “Anyone here? I have a package from Oliver. Uh, Oliver Swanson, your attorney.”
The lack of response infuriated her. Was she really going to have to call him back and get a new address so she could waste more of her evening doing favors for her ex-fiancé?
“If that asshole sent me on a wild goose chase—”
A loud rumble shattered the silence, nearly giving her a heart attack.
Brenna whirled around as three huge motorcycles tore into the lot like they were being chased by, well, other motorcycle bandits. Dust swirled up in thick clouds as they skidded to a stop, choking her, and reducing her ability to see.
She backed up on instinct, waving a hand to clear the air. The bikes formed a semi-circle around her. With the building at her back, they blocked any chance of escape. Her heart raced even louder than the roar of their bikes. Hopefully, they’d take the envelope and go, but her insides twisted in a way that let her know something was wrong.
Why the hell hadn’t she grabbed her purse from the car? She kept a can of pepper spray and a fancy weaponized keychain she could use to gouge a man’s eye out. None of that helped if twenty feet and three bikers were between them.
The engines quieted to an idling whir as her breathing went from worried puffs to frantic pants. The man on the middle bike climbed down, yanked off his helmet, and then marched toward her with angry strides. With his dark hair and an air of confidence, he’d be attractive if he didn’t appear so aggressive.
Brenna held her ground even as her knees wobbled. Not that staying there was much of an impressive feat. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“Who the fuck are you?” he barked in a tone so terrifying her stomach bottomed out.
“I, uh, I…”
“Who. The. Fuck. Are. You.”
If she’d thought his tone menacing before, it had nothing on the cold, lethal one he laid on her now.
Her mouth dried up until all she could do was flap her mouth open and shut without uttering a sound. Another one of the bikers climbed off his motorcycle and strode her way. This one was so huge he made her knees knock in fear.
“Dude,” the big guy called out as he approached. “Maybe ease up a bit. She looks ready to shit herself.”
Yes. Yes. If he eased up on the death glare, she could speak.
“Is that my money?” Scary-as-hell-guy barked.
Money? She glanced down at the envelope. Money?
“Uh, no,” she managed to squeak. “Oliver sent me.”
His face remained stoic and flat-out scary. Did he not know who Oliver was?
She could do this.
You can do this. You have to do this.
“Uh, your lawyer. He had some, um, papers for you.”
The envelope. Give him the envelope.
She extended her arm, holding the bulky manilla envelope toward him. It shook, betraying her fear on the off chance they hadn’t picked up on it yet.