Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
I stare at the long, thick, bloody splinter. A chunk of door. That’s it? I breathe a sigh of relief. Not a bullet.
Rock crouches next to me, placing his back toward the trailer, protecting me like a human shield. “Are you bleeding?” he asks a shade louder than necessary given our situation.
“Just a chunk of their cheap-ass door.” The pain is annoying but tolerable and seems to be subsiding after the extraction.
A strong hand wraps around my upper arm and yanks. “Get out of the way in case they come outside,” Murphy hisses in my ear.
Right. Someone shot at us.
Did I hit my head in the fall?
Shaking off the thousand thoughts racing through my mind, I roll to my feet and crab-walk to the side of the trailer, pressing my back against the metal frame.
“You all right?” Murphy asks, probing my bloody side.
“I think I’ll live.” I brush his hands off me. “You just had to make that crack about me getting shot.”
His eyes widen like I slammed my fist into his gut.
“I’m kidding. Relax.” I bump him with my elbow.
“Want some more of that, motherfuckers?” a man screams from inside.
Grinder answers by firing a few shots into the air.
Whoever’s inside steps into the doorway. Just enough to see the tip of the shotgun, not the person holding it.
Click-clack.
Boom!
Pellets hit the dirt, spraying bits and pieces in a cloud.
In the distance—pop!
A bullet whizzes through the air.
There’s a wet thwack and the hard, unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor.
The corners of Rock’s mouth twitch. “Figured Wrath could make that shot.”
There’s no way to know how many people are inside. The six of us stay put, straining to catch any more sounds.
Creak.
Thump-shuffle-thump. Someone banging against a wall? The floor? I can’t quite place the sound.
Muffled talking?
A word that sounds like someone mumbling my name through a mouthful of socks.
I tap Rock’s arm and he nods.
“Carter?” I say just above a whisper.
More muffled noises. Frantic now.
On the other side of the porch, Z wildly waves his arm, then points to the trailer. I nod and stand, wincing at the pain flaring to life in my side.
“Easy,” Rock warns but he doesn’t try to stop me.
Moving a whole lot slower than I’d like, Z and I creep toward the porch. Grinder and Rock stay close to our backs. Z steps inside first. Gun tight to his chest but ready to fire, he sweeps through the trailer. I pull my shotgun in front of me, pointed toward the floor, but fingers at the ready.
“Carter!” I yell.
A muffled yelp responds.
Hope and relief twist together in my chest. Please let that be Carter.
Z and I move toward the sound.
The trailer shakes and groans with our combined weight pounding through it.
I stop at a narrow doorway. My gaze sweeps over the cramped bathroom and lands on Carter. Duct-taped to the drainpipe connecting the sink to the wall, but alive.
Relief floods my system. He’s alive. We found him.
The stupid drainpipe has to be the only sturdy thing in here. Carter’s twisted the tape into a long, thin knot from trying to break free.
Crouching on the filthy tile, I pull out my knife and slice through the tape securing him to the metal.
“You came for me,” Carter rasps as he rips the tape off his mouth. Dried blood lines his temple. Anger quickens my pulse. Cutting off his toe wasn’t enough, they beat him too.
“Of course I did.” I hold out my hand. “Come on. We gotta go.”
His face twists with anguish. “What about Bianca? Is she okay?” He squeezes his eyes shut. “She tried to help. One of them hit her. I was scared they ran her over.”
“She’s okay as far as I know. She called Charlotte and told us what happened.”
He blows out a relieved breath. “Good. I felt so bad—”
“We can talk about it later. Let’s get out of here,” I urge.
He bites back a groan and stumbles as I pull him off the floor. “What’s left of my foot is asleep.”
A tornado of rage stings my skin. “How many toes did they take?”
“Just the little toe.” Carter hops on his uninjured foot and struggles to put weight on the other. “It’s okay. It got in my way most of the time, anyway.”
Bitter laughter sears my throat. “Come here.” I wrap my arm around his waist and encourage him to put his arm over my shoulder and lean on me.
“They sawed it off almost as soon as they got me into their death van.” Carter shudders. “Wanted me to know they meant business.”
“Fuckers.”
He flexes his hand. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a finger. I need those.” He pretends to hold a paintbrush in the air.
“You all right, kid?” Rock asks from the hallway.
Carter’s eyes widen and he stumbles again, fully leaning against me. “Rock? You’re here too?”