Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
He wasn’t so scary now.
Some sick part of me almost wanted to laugh.
Maybe I would have.
If the van door didn’t suddenly slide open, flooding the space in brightness, and revealing my savior.
It had to be him.
Somehow, I knew it was.
But there he was, knuckles busted open and bloody, eyes filled with the same kind of rage I felt flooding my system.
Familiar hands reached out, grabbing me, lifting me and setting me on the ground outside of the van.
I think I expected a hug, a moment of comfort.
But as soon as Riff’s gaze moved over me, checking to make sure I was—at least physically—okay, he turned away, climbed into the van, and slammed the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Riff
Metal was blasting from the van, making my stomach cramp painfully, knowing why the music would need to be that loud, what kind of horror that could be trying to cover up.
My vision tunneled as I flew out of my car, running toward the van, reminding myself to thank Detroit for all the long hours in the gym, because I swore I made it there before I could even draw a breath.
Through the window, I saw the side of one of the men from the house in the woods. But he was sitting facing backward, watching… whatever was going on in the back.
And it was excitement and joy on the motherfucker’s face.
Well, I would be all-too-happy to wipe that fucking look off.
I grabbed the handle, saying a silent prayer of gratitude when it pulled right open, unlocked.
The man didn’t even get a chance to register what was happening before I was grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and yanking him outward.
“The fuck—“ was all he managed to say before my fist was colliding with his face.
Once.
Twice.
Blood flooded his mouth, spilling out like a horror movie.
He tried to grab for me, to put up some weak-ass defense.
But there was no fighting me, not right then, not with the fire raging through my veins, destroying everything in its wake.
I slammed him back against the van, watching his vision flicker at the impact of his skull on the steel.
And liking that way too much not to do it again.
And again.
And again.
“Yo!” a voice called, hands grabbing me under my arms, pulling me back. “He’s down,” he called as I glanced down to see the arms pulling me back.
They were covered in green and tan flannel.
Which could only mean one person.
Jack.
The owner of the motel.
“Let me go!” I roared. “Someone has my girl in that van.”
At that, Jack immediately released me.
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get up,” he said, but I wasn’t really paying attention.
Vienna was still in that van with at least one other man, the whole fucking vehicle rocking with their movements.
My stomach sloshed as awful images conjured up and flashed across my mind.
They didn’t have long to take root, though, as I rounded the other side of the van, grabbed the handle and slid the door open.
The inside of the van flooded with light.
I seemed to see it all at once.
The dirty mattress on the floor.
The man holding his nose as blood seeped through his fingers.
And Vienna.
Vienna.
Looking like some fucking warrior woman, brandishing a wrench that was drenched in blood, as was her hand from holding it.
Her eyes were unfocused, trying to adjust to the brightness of the outdoors after the dark of the van.
I could see it when she saw it was me.
Her shoulders went slack.
Her face softened.
Relief.
Pure and utter relief.
I reached for her, lifting her out of the van, thanking whatever god was listening for the fact that she was, as far as I could tell, uninjured, still fully clothed.
I set her down on her feet, drinking her in for just a second.
Then I heard the howling sounds of the man in the van. The man responsible for all of Vienna’s fears, her trauma.
I hated to leave her.
But this needed to end.
So I jumped into the van and slammed the door closed.
She didn’t need to see this.
The fire that had already been blazing through me overtook me completely as I stared at the monster from Vienna’s nightmares.
Well, it was time for someone to fucking slay him, wasn’t it?
I didn’t have any weapons on me.
But I had my fists.
And a lot of fucking hard surfaces in this van.
I thanked the, hopefully dead, driver for blasting the music, because the man’s mouth opened over and over as I struck him, likely crying out in pain.
Good.
I wanted him to hurt.
I wanted him to know what it was like when someone took his control away, when he was made to feel powerless, when he was the fucking victim.
He fell backward with one particularly hard strike that I felt all the way up my arm, making my shoulder ache.
Reaching down, I grabbed his legs, pulling him off of the soft surface of the mattress.