Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I pressed hard on the back wall of the cabinet and a tiny click happened as the false panel was released. I lowered it some and reached in to find the semiautomatic Ruger Mark IV and full clip that I had hidden there, along with the suppressor. As soundless as I could, I moved the false panel back in place before I put the clip in the Ruger, but not all the way and screwed on the suppressor. I left it all in my bag and stood up. I still needed a shower and took advantage of the steamy water. It scalded my skin, but I welcomed the ability to feel. I’d been numb since leaving Tayla. Once I eliminated the threat, I would beg her for forgiveness for leaving.
Once changed into fresh clothes, I went back into the main area and left my bag purposefully placed near the door with the gun almost ready to go with only a T-shirt covering it.
“I need to do laundry,” I murmured to no one but for the ears of whoever was listening. It was the truth and also explained to anyone watching why I’d left my bag near the door and not by the chest of drawers next to the bathroom.
For all I knew, no one was listening or watching, but better safe than sorry. I relaxed on my sofa, even though I was anything but. I tapped on my phone, opened a food delivery app and placed an order with my favorite Italian restaurant. As I was about to put my phone down, it vibrated with a movement alert. I opened the website for the camera and got a view of my hallway. A figure in black moved toward my door. At this point, I ignored the possibility that I was being watched.
I dashed for the bathroom and turned on the shower. It was still foggy in there and would provide the cover I was hoping for. The bathroom wasn’t where I planned to be. I made for my bag before ultimately ending up to the right of the door opposite where my bag was. I’d grabbed the gun, holding the magazine so it wouldn’t fall out. It was too late to push the clip in without being heard.
As I suspected, the intruder didn’t knock. The handle moved slowly until it met resistance. There was a light knock as if the person was testing if I was within hearing range. A minute later, I heard tools and looked over at where I’d left my phone. In seconds, the door clicked open since I hadn’t used the dead bolt. The door opened slowly, concealing my position behind it.
The figure in dark clothing glanced around before their attention focused on the bathroom, where steam billowed out. As they crept toward that door, I slowly stepped around behind them. Before they got to the bathroom, I clicked the magazine in place. Too late, they spun around, but my gun was aimed squarely at their forehead.
A man in his early thirties, with the look of someone who had seen too much, faced me. I arched a brow when he didn’t lower his gun.
“Put it on the ground and kick it toward me,” I commanded.
He held his hands up, gun still in one before he slowly lowered himself to his knees. He put the gun down and used his hand to push it in my direction. Lucky for me, I saw what he was about to do before he did it. He lunged for my legs. I jumped back, but it still put me off balance.
I kicked, not to hit him and expose my leg for him to grab, but to push his gun out of reaching distance. He reared up and made like a bull for my midsection. There was nothing for me to do but hope I didn’t lose the grip on my gun on impact. We crashed back in a duel of wills. I punched at his side and that was a mistake. He guessed right that I wasn’t planning on shooting him if I didn’t have to. He spun and knocked at my gun hand.
There were many options, none of them good. In swinging my arm out of the way, my aim was toward the ground. I had neighbors below me and couldn’t risk harming an innocent person. Instead, I rammed the gun at his face, leaving him dizzy. I sideswiped his leg and he fell forward to the ground. With a knee in his back, I wrenched his arms behind him and pulled cuffs I’d hidden in the sofa to restrain his wrists. Once that was done, I got off him.
As he panted, I barked orders. “Where is your phone?”
He didn’t balk at my request and answered instead. It was the first time he’d spoken. “In my pocket.”