Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Using my grip on her hair, I slammed her body forward into mine as I wrapped my other hand around her throat. “Challenge accepted.”
Just as I leaned down to claim that gorgeous, lying mouth again, Mac called into the room. “Var? You’re needed.”
Taking a deep breath through my nose, I released her and stepped back. After snatching a roll of duct tape off the nearest table, I captured her wrist.
She pulled back. “No! Stop!”
I stretched her left arm out to a nearby metal support pole. Forcing her onto her knees, I crouched down and secured her wrist to the pole with duct tape. Leaning in, I tore the tape with my teeth before tossing the roll aside. I’d wrapped it around her wrist so many times and with so many twists, it would take her twenty minutes to unwind it.
My hand cupped her jaw. “Be a good girl and stay nice and quiet until I return.”
“You can’t just leave me here! Please, let me go! I’m sorry I slapped you.”
“We will deal with the more creative ways you’re going to apologize for that when I return.”
My decision was made.
I’d bring her back to the Four Monks with me for further interrogation.
After all, at this point, she was our best lead. There was a chance she got a look at who really killed Abakar and his men. She may even know the name of the art forger he employed.
Yes, she would be very useful to me in more ways than one.
CHAPTER 6
VIVIAN
Ineeded to get the fuck out of here before he returned and made good on his threats.
The moment I observed his shadow disappear among the stacks, I yanked on my wrist.
Fortunately, he’d only taken the time to bind one.
Chipping my brand-new manicure, I picked at the binding with my right hand. It should have been a simple task, but the duct tape was so sticky, it completely adhered to itself and wouldn’t unwind.
Crap.
That was when I spied my purse.
The knife!
Thank God for that silly pink knife.
Lowering down onto my ass, I cringed as bits of dirt and jagged debris pressed into my skin through the leggings from the filthy floor. Careful not to make too many scraping noises with my boots along the sandy cement, I stretched out my leg and hooked my purse strap with my toe.
Gingerly so as not to lose it, I bent my knee and dragged it closer.
The moment it was within reach, I shoved my hand inside and pulled out the knife.
Craning my neck and listening intently, I made sure there was no movement near the far-off entrance to the dusty side room.
Satisfied that the devil was not returning, I flicked open the blade. Wedging the tip between the tape and the pole, I assumed it would slice straight through.
Nothing happened.
I’d forgotten how impossibly dull the novelty blade was.
Anxious that I was losing time, I sawed the knife back and forth over the tape, slowly making progress. As sweat dripped between my shoulder blades, I even leaned in and tried to tear at it with my teeth.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the tape slit and I was free.
Scrambling off the cement floor, I snatched up my purse and ventured deeper into the stack of cardboard.
The man probably assumed this room had no doorway exit.
And he would be right.
But he’d forgotten about the old grain chute.
So many of these old Chicago warehouses had rusted steel metal doors covering chutes that led outside for various reasons. I’d once seen Abakar’s men use the one in this room to dump garbage into a dumpster in the loading dock.
After creeping through the dusty darkness along the crumbling brick wall, I found it.
Prying it open, I shoved my purse through first, then used a nearby box to step up and push my feet through.
With eyes squeezed shut and holding my breath, I let go.
I slid along the slick metal until a burst of frigid air hit my face. Seconds later, I landed in the dumpster. I had to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out in horror at the stench.
After slinging my purse strap over my shoulder, I crawled and stumbled over the garbage to the metal ladder on the right side.
Just as I gripped the rough, rusted rung, something skittered and scurried over the discarded boxes.
No longer caring about my chipped nail polish, I scampered up the ladder as if it were the hounds of hell inside the dumpster with me.
Keeping in the shadows, I raced along the outer warehouse wall to my car parked on the other side of the street.
My hands shook so badly it took several tries for me to get the key in the outer door.
As I fell into the driver’s seat, I pushed the key in the ignition and sent up a quick prayer.