Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
The entire yard is full of activity—men coming and going out of the front of the house, more men looking around the property, no doubt for disrupted dirt like I would ever hurt her and then bury her in my own backyard. But still no Raya. Are they consoling her inside? I grind my teeth in anger at the thought of them grilling her. I’d do everything in my power to kill every single one of these motherfuckers if I get wind that they even spoke to her in a tone of disrespect.
Maybe they called her dad to come get her. It would be one hell of a photo op for her to greet her soon-to-be president father on the front porch of the house she's been held captive in for the last month. Then it hits me.
“I know you guys,” I snap.
The guy in the front seat huffs. “You don’t know shit about us.”
“You’re those douchebags from St. Louis,” I say. “Black street or something.”
“Blackbridge,” the redhead corrects in a gruff accented voice. “Now shut the fuck up,”
The guy in the driver’s seat steps out to speak to another man and although I can’t hear them, it's clear that neither one of them are happy. I watch their very annoyed, tight-lipped conversation and only get bits and pieces of it. Words that sound like scandal, more proof, false imprisonment, and I have no idea what any of it means.
I can’t allow myself to get hopeful. The crash from that would be as detrimental as knowing I'll never see Raya again.
“Bad Press. I'm sorry. We'll get more,” are the next sets of words that filter into the SUV. The redheaded guy grows antsy, annoyed as if he can hear the entire fucking conversation. He is not happy with where it's going. The driver of the SUV throws his hands up in the air before turning and walking back to the vehicle.
“What the fuck is going on?” the redhead asks when the other guy opens the door at my side.
The guy pulls me out and I almost fall to the ground before I can get my feet under me.
“Wren doesn't make fucking mistakes,” the redhead growls.
The guy who pulled me out just glares at me as if he can read my mind. I'm too stunned to taunt him. Too stunned to be argumentative right now. There’s no fucking way that I'm being released. But he spins me, roughly shoving me up against the side of the SUV. Despite the heat of the vehicle burning my skin, I don’t say a word.
All of the men start to leave, pissed off and angry, peeling out in my front yard.
“See you soon,” the man says, before shoving me in the direction of my front porch.
Raya never exited the house which tells me that she took off. The sun is fully down now, the front porch light casting the only glow of light. The night’s so dark, it doesn't make it far before fading into nothing.
I go back inside, an itch to my skin with thoughts of Raya being out at night in the fucking desert all alone. Even if she made it into El Paso, she wouldn't be safe. The city is just as dangerous as the desert with countless stories of abductions, and traffickers, and people being turned into drug mules. Border Patrol wouldn't suspect a pretty blonde thing like her. She'd be the perfect addition to their drug smuggling.
I don't say a word as I run into my house. I know I have to wait. I know that those motherfuckers won't be far. I know they're waiting for me to slip up just like I know they bugged my house. I use an app on my phone to scan, pulling three listening devices. I drop each of them individually into the garbage disposal in the sink, not feeling any better about this entire situation as I power on the disposal and grind them to pieces.
I'm thorough though. I look over the house. Again, more to keep myself busy than thinking I missed anything the first time. I have to wait until they get sleepy and complacent before I can go out and look for her, and it fucking kills me to do that.
Hours go by and all I can do is pace. I spend some of the time pulling my go-bag out of the bedroom closet and making sure the expiration dates haven't passed on the food inside. A noise filters in and I tilt my head to the side as I leave the bedroom. The noise isn't coming from the front porch like I expected, thinking the guys somehow managed to get DNA results already back from the sheets and they’re here to cuff me for the final time.
The noise comes from the exercise room and as I make my way in that direction I realize the door to the hidden room is no longer standing open. I swear to fuck, if one of those guys is hiding in my house, I’ll slit his goddamn throat and not even think twice about it.