Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“That’s good ‘cause I’m at least two hours out, and they can get to her faster than I can.”
“That’s what we were thinking. Anyway, it looks like her phone is dead, but I was able to use the local towers to ping her last location. It looks like she’s at Vittorio’s place at Spring Creek, just outside of Collierville.”
That’s all I needed to know.
As I turned and charged for the door, I shouted, “Text me the address!”
“Hold on!” Shep called out. “Get with Gus! Don’t go there alone!”
“I’ll call him on the way!”
Without saying anything more, I head out the back door and out to my truck. In a matter of seconds, I was through the gate and on my way to Memphis. My mind was running a mile a minute as I made my way out to the interstate.
I felt like time was slipping away from me. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t stop it or even slow it down. It was completely out of my control. Everything was out of my control and that had me spiraling in ways I couldn’t begin to describe. I had a million thoughts running through my head, mainly all the things I hadn’t said.
I hadn’t told her how she made me feel—how she made me want to keep her close, protect her, and love her. I’d finally convinced her to give us a chance, and I didn’t want to fuck it up by saying too much too soon. I’d kept it all bottled up inside, hoping that the right time would come along so I could tell her everything that was on my mind, but that time never came. And now, I feared I might never be able to tell her.
I’d made a fucking mess of things.
I’d let my guard down and hadn’t put up a fuss about her going to see her father—even after everything my mother had told me. I knew better, but I’d convinced myself that she was in good hands with her father. She was his flesh and blood. I trusted him to keep her out of harm’s way, but he hadn’t. Instead, the asshole had thrown her right into the fire.
Antonia
“Come on, Antonia. You can’t just sit here! Think!”
I wanted to believe that Wes or my father would come crashing through that door and would rescue me, but neither of them came. I was alone, and it was up to me, and only me, to get out of there. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked around, making sure I hadn’t missed anything.
I don’t know why I bothered.
There wasn’t much to it—just a bed, a nightstand, a rug, a dresser, and a small closet. There were no windows, and the heavy wooden door was locked from the outside.
I knew there were at least three guards on site. I’d not only seen them, but I heard them every time they walked by the room—which had been every hour on the hour. And the hours were starting to add up. I couldn’t see outside, but I knew it had to be getting dark out and I was growing irritated with myself taking so long to find a way out.
I was about to just give it all up when I spotted my reflection in the dresser’s mirror. At first, I just dismissed it and turned away, and then, I had a thought. I grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and carried it over to the dresser. While I was hesitant to make too much noise and attract attention to myself, I gripped the base tighter, then butted it up against the lower corner of the mirror.
I’d hit it pretty hard, but the glass didn’t break.
So, I hit it again, and once again, nothing.
"Come on," I whispered, more to myself than anything else. “You can do this.”
Frustrated, I hit it even harder, and this time, the mirror shattered, and pieces of glass scattered onto the rug. Being careful not to cut myself, I picked up one of the longer shards and quickly examined its edge. I ran the pad of my thumb across the sharpest point and was disappointed to find that it wasn’t quite sharp enough. Using the base of the lamp, I started hammering away at one of the larger pieces, shaping it against the hardwood floor until I got something resembling a blade.
Eventually, I managed to forge a decent edge. I ripped the hem of my shirt and wrapped it around the base, hoping it would protect my hand from being cut when I held it. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I slipped it into my back pocket, then rushed to the closet and grabbed one of the old dry-cleaning wire hangers. I quickly unwound it and fashioned it into a straight point. I carried it over to the door and placed my ear against the smooth wood, listening for any signs of the guards.