Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Crippling fear tightens my throat. I hate how he makes me feel small and inconsequential. “Cut the crap and tell me what you want.”
“Someone has important information that belongs to us, and we need it back. In exchange, we will give you what you’ve been searching for.”
I stare at the giant man, his clean-shaven face and slicked-back hair. His suit probably cost more than my car. A gangster trying to appear refined. “Aren’t you all-powerful and shit? Can’t you get it yourself? Why do you need me?”
“There are complications if we go in guns blazing. We’d rather handle this more diplomatically.”
I’m getting myself into a fucked-up situation. These men aren’t known for playing fair or showing mercy. The opposite is true; they’re conniving, bloodthirsty criminals who will do whatever and kill whoever they need to in order to win. “You know where they are?”
“We know where they are, and we’ll exchange the information with you as soon as you bring us what we require.”
In all these years, no one’s ever been able to give me the information I need. It’s always been a wild goose chase, one dead end met by another. Two weeks ago, I thought about giving up, living my life how it is now, and forgetting about the past. Then I got the phone call, and my dying hopes budded again. “Are they dead?”
The left side of Alaric’s lip turns up. “Does it matter?”
What kind of question is that? Of course, it matters. I’m not some idiot who’d risk her life for a couple of corpses. “A couple of dead guys are no use to me. The three of you are many things, but you have a reputation for being honest and direct when someone asks the right questions. Hence your nickname of the Fay brothers. It’s almost like you’re incapable of direct deceit.”
Alaric crosses his arms over his chest. It may be my imagination, but the deep slash on his right cheek appears harsher than usual. He’s still beautiful, almost ethereal. Guess the devil has an ethereal beauty too.
His eyes twinkle as if he’s privy to a secret. “Yes, they’re alive.”
“Okay, then. Let’s do this.”
Alaric steps toward me, his colossal frame making me claustrophobic. “The Beasts are deranged. They are men who function on the fringes, and going there could be your end. Do you understand?”
I step closer, needing him to know that intimidation won’t work on me, even though my instinct is to run screaming as if I’m on fire. “Well, I don’t suppose you’re willing to give up the goods without putting me in danger?”
Alaric laughs. “No. I don’t like you enough to care if you live or die.”
I stick my hand out. “Give me the details, so I can get this over with.”
Chapter Two
EDEN
Darkness looms over the half-dead trees as dense fog gathers around me, creating an eerie shadow that would haunt anyone’s nightmares. The bend and crack of branches is an ominous warning of the horror that lies ahead. Dead leaves crunch under my feet with every step, a whispered cry that I should abandon my task. The wild wind echoes my need for self-preservation as it whips through my hair, demanding I run. Against my better judgment, I ignore my intuition and trek further into the forest's darkness.
Between the hanging branches of lush and withered trees lies an abandoned cemetery with untended graves. Some are marked with broken and chipped tombstones, others with a makeshift cross, almost an afterthought. Across from the field of decaying corpses sits an abandoned church, highlighted by the moon's fullness.
Another twig cracks under my feet, reminding me I may be dead in a ditch by six am tomorrow morning, my body mangled and unrecognizable. But I’ve been through things worse than death, acts so heinous they would break the strongest will. But not mine—I learned how to bend instead of break. That’s how I’ve survived my entire life, reinventing myself to be saved. A chameleon, changing color to suit the predator in my midst.
The silence engulfs me like a cocoon. I enjoy the quiet. It’s the only time I don’t have to pretend. When I can explore the recesses of my mind and strategize. But here, the silence is an alarm, announcing the maddening descent into chaos.
I march through the field of the dead to the entrance of what some believe to be salvation. Surely, if God is real, He would not let my demise be here in His house.
“Let us fall into the hand of the Lord, for his mercy is great; but let me not fall into the hand of man.”
What is the appropriate action here? Usually, I’d break in, take what I needed and bounce before anyone knew something was up. But this isn’t the usual job of stealing from some geeky tech billionaire.