Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
At the end of the drive, a man comes into view, seated on the front porch. He’s intimidating in size and very rough-looking, with worn jeans and boots and gray hair that looks like it hasn’t been trimmed for years. There’s a wolfishness about his face and a beadiness about his glassy yellowish eyes. He stands as I pull closer and park up but waits by his door as I gather my tools and the new locks I need to do the job.
“Hi,” I say. “Sorry for the wait.”
His eyes scan from my face and down my body. There’s not much to make out; my hastily thrown-on overalls certainly aren’t sexy, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. I now feel just as uncomfortable with this man as I did back in the store with the Bjorn brothers.
“I take it you’ve checked that there are no open windows?”
The man nods. “Everything is locked up tight.”
“Okay, then let’s get this door drilled and you inside.”
He nods and watches me as I climb the stairs to the doorway. The door itself has seen better days. The paint is peeling, and there’s a hint of rot in the wood around the bottom. The steps are filthy, with mud and leaves covering where I’m going to need to set my things. There’s a dilapidated feeling to this whole place, the man included. I inspect the lock, ensuring the one I’ve brought with me will be suitable to replace it. The man clears his throat behind me, and when I turn, I find that he’s come even closer. Strangely close.
“I just need to get something from my car,” I say, my instinct to put some distance between us kicking in.
“I need to get in there,” he says, and my hackles rise. There’s an urgency in his voice that doesn’t seem right. This guy is weird, and this situation isn’t good. Maybe this isn’t his home. That’s always a risk of this job.
“I’ll just be a minute.” I pick up my tools and start back to the car, going to the trunk. I put my tools on the ground while I search for my keys. I want to get out of here. I don’t care if I agreed to do this job. I glance over to where the man was standing, except he isn’t there anymore. He’s right behind me.
“What are you doing?” he hisses.
Fuck. My hands tremble at my sides. “I’ve got to go back to the store… I didn’t bring the right tools and lock. I need to get some more supplies,” I say. The tremble in my voice is obvious.
The man grins, and his narrow brown teeth are hideous. “I’m not stupid.”
I shake my head. “I didn’t say you were. I just, I made a mistake.” The leaves crunch underfoot as I take two steps back toward the driver’s door of my car. If I can just get close enough, I can jump in and speed off. I have to be able to. But the man is there, stepping with me, and my heart feels like a bass drum in my chest. Oh, God.
I put my hand on the door handle of my car, but before I can wrench it open, the man is there, grabbing my wrist. “YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” Spittle flies from his mouth and lands on my cheek. I try to yank my arm back, but he’s strong and looming, and the panic that races through me overwhelms any coherent thought.
“LET GO OF ME!” I shout, but my throat is tight, and I sound too scared for it to have any impact. He grins, squeezing my wrist enough to make me cry out in pain.
“You’re coming with me,” he hisses.
The way he’s leering at me is sexual, and the thought that this could escalate to serious physical violence makes my stomach heave. But what can I do? I can’t fight him. He’s too strong. I can’t get away. I’m in the middle of nowhere. No one has my location or my time of expected return.
I stumble as he drags me back toward the house. On the steps, I stumble, falling to my knees, and I scramble to stand but before I have a chance, we’re disturbed by the sound of crunching leaves behind us. The man turns before me, and his sharp intake of breath is enough to make me turn, too.
And what I see raises a whole other level of fear in me.
Bears.
Oh my God.
Two huge lumbering bears.
I scramble to my feet as the man backs toward the house, his hands up as though that will make the bears stop in their tracks. It doesn’t. I stumble back, banging my body against the door, but there’s nowhere to go. I shuffle to the side, thinking that if I can get close enough, I can sprint to my car. The bears move slowly, but they can run when they need to. Fear slips to a sinking feeling of inevitability. I won’t make it. There are too many of them, and they’re growling and slathering, dripping saliva.