Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Gray Mullet. Ha, as if Gray would’ve fought them off like this.
Dario is not going to surrender. He shoves me behind a metal bulkhead as he pulls the trigger. I fall to the ground as they shoot back at him. One falls, the second, the third. I watch in shock, crouched behind the bulkhead as bodies fall to the ground like clay pigeons in a shooting game. It’s inhuman. I’ve seen one shoot-out in my life and heard plenty of stories. No one can shoot this many without getting shot himself.
I will kill Sergio for not teaching me to shoot, and as soon as I get free again— and I will get free—I’m gonna learn how to defend myself.
They’re dead. They’re all dead.
We’re… free?
“Stay right there.” Dario doesn’t look at me but scans our surroundings. I’d be a fool not to listen to him.
I lay as still as a corpse. I hear him traipsing across the yard as he looks for a way out. Sirens wail behind us. Of course. We don’t have much time. The cops will come, identify the car and probably Gray’s body…
“This way.”
I stand and follow Dario, which isn’t hard to do since he grabs my hand almost painfully and yanks me to a gate. “Bulkhead’s locked and they’ll expect us to go there.”
“Who?” I whisper.
“I counted twelve after us. I killed nine. There’s three more.”
My palm feels sweaty in his. I don’t know what’s gonna happen next or how I’m going to get out of this, but I know my only chance of surviving is following the lead of the guy that just hosed down nine guys single-handedly.
“You’re a good shot,” I whisper.
“Served ten years in the military,” he says, without a touch of pride in his voice. Matter-of-fact. “Comes in handy in my present line of business, too.”
Something whizzes past me and almost hits my ear. There’s a sizzling sound and a blare of orange flame against the dark sky.
“Watch it!”
Dario shoves me down to the ground and covers me with his body. Smoke permeates the air around us so badly I’m choking.
Wood splinters. Gunshots ring. Dario heaves himself off me so he can shoot again, but blood pours from a wound on his head. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, then pulls the trigger. No one falls.
“There they are.” An unfamiliar voice. Dario won’t get off of me as if he can protect me by smothering me beneath his massive frame. I still have to breathe to stay alive, and we’re surrounded. One gunshot and he’s dead.
Apparently, they don’t want us dead.
It takes three men to disarm Dario and haul him off of me, and it takes them a long time since he fights like mad. But in the end, even a huge former military Rossi man can’t singlehandedly take down three heavily armed combatants without a weapon.
Someone reaches for me. Dario curses. A prick of something painful presses against my neck. My vision blurs. I’m aware of Dario screaming and kicking. Dimly, I’m aware that he’s incapacitated one and the second and third are injured.
We could still escape, I think to myself, as my eyelids grow too heavy.
We…
Could…
I succumb to the darkness.
CHAPTER THREE
Dario
I wake up in a cold, dark room. My eyes spring open, my body on instant alert. Once a soldier, always a soldier they say. I never really fully sleep.
There’s a sliver of light in the far corner of the room. I’ve obviously been drugged so my depth perception’s off, but it looks like the thin line you’d see at the bottom of a doorway.
I try to remember what happened.
We were cornered. I’d watched as they held my arms back, pricked her neck with a needle to drug her, then probably did the same to me. I don’t remember that, but I feel my body covered in bruises. I didn’t go down without a fight.
Doesn’t matter. Here I fucking am.
I do a quick mental inventory. Broken ribs. Bruises, lacerations. Gunshot wounds are superficial. Hard to see out of one eye. They hit my temple with a bullet, but it was a graze and didn’t penetrate. Stings like a motherfucker but if they knew how to fucking shoot—or were shooting to kill—I’d have been a lot worse off.
I keep my breathing slow and regulated in case they’re monitoring me.
I still don’t know who the fuck they are.
I’ve been here before. Not this exact location, but I’ve been taken hostage before, and I know the most important thing to do is stay calm and observant then fight like hell when given the chance.
And I will get a fucking chance. The blood thrums in my veins knowing how I’ll fight when I can.
Most prisoners are overwhelmed and even paralyzed with fear, and the few that aren’t rarely have the training necessary to fight.