Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
The smooth music hits my ears as I walk into the bar, my heart beating faster as I take in a few of the men seated on the stools. It’s funny how a bar being mostly empty sends greater fear through me than one that’s packed. One where I can blend in.
Right here, right now? I don’t belong, and every soul here knows it.
Maybe this is why Mika thought he could get away with it, I think bitterly as I try to ignore the scared little girl inside of me. He thinks he can steal from me because my father won’t stop him and I’m too spineless to even come out of my room unless called upon.
I force myself to straighten my back as I move closer to the bar and set down my clutch. I have a plan and I go over it as I try to swallow, form a smile, and order a drink.
“Vodka and Sprite,” I order easily as I slip onto the barstool and meet the bartender’s eyes. With a nod he moves seamlessly to the glasses, making them clink and then filling one with ice.
I’ll wait for the guys. Even if they scare me because I know what they’re capable of. I’ll look Mika in the eyes and tell him to give my sketchbook back to me by tomorrow. And then I’ll walk away. No threats. It’s a simple request. He wants to play around and tease me and I won’t give him the time to do so. That’s the only reason he took it.
He gets a thrill from goading me.
The wind batters against the glass windows to my right and it startles me. None of the men lining the room seem to have noticed it.
I’m too busy watching the hanging sign for the brewery banging against the window that I don’t see the bartender come up to me.
The sound of the glass hitting the hard maple bar top sends a spike of fear through me and I jump in surprise.
The sudden stillness and immediate silence that accompanies all of their eyes on me force me to tense. I can barely form a smile as I stare straight ahead and thank the bartender.
First, I feel a rush of embarrassment, followed by fear that they know I’m weak. Then that all-consuming anxiety that everything is going to go wrong washes over me. Very wrong.
It makes me want to throw up, but instead, I lift the cold glass to my lips. One sip of the sweet cocktail does nothing. Two, and my throat still feels dry.
I’m a foolish girl. I lick a bit of soda from my bottom lip and set the glass down on the counter as I stare at all the colorful labels of liquor bottles lining the shelves.
There’s no one who will stand up for me and I can’t even bring myself to think about confrontation without getting jumpy. Trying to swallow proves useless and so I push myself off the stool with both hands clinging to the cold bar.
My palms are clammy, and I nearly tell the bartender I’m just going to the restroom as if he’d care. As if anyone cares.
That feeling of complete insignificance follows me with each step to the left of the bar as I head down a skinny hallway. It’s the only way to go, so the restrooms must be there. I only make it a few steps before I think I hear a shot. My body tenses and my heart goes still. It knows that if it were to beat, I wouldn’t be able to hear a single thing else.
There’s no scream. There’s nothing but the sound of the music. I must have only thought I heard one. It’s all in my head.
My eyes close as I will myself to breathe. But then they bolt open at a familiar noise.
It’s not the harsh sound of a gun going off. It’s the whiz of a gun with a silencer, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor.
Bang, bang! Two of them back to back, and this time everything sounds closer. Another shot. My body clings to the wall as if it can hide me.
I force myself to move, to head to the back and find a way out or place to hide. I might be a scared little girl, barely surviving in my father’s world, but I’m not a fucking idiot.
I quicken my pace as I round the corner, motivated by the sheer will to live. But every bit of strength I have, even if it is minuscule, is for nothing.
The scream that’s torn from my throat is barely heard as a thick bag covers my head.
My clutch falls to the floor, hitting my thigh as I kick out and miss the man in front of me. My heels go with it, each kick accompanied by the rough laughter of several men.