Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32983 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 165(@200wpm)___ 132(@250wpm)___ 110(@300wpm)
I swallow. I already failed when I took responsibility for the job.
His full lips tilt in one corner, but there’s nothing friendly about the gesture. “Ready, princess?”
I nod.
His mouth ghosts over mine. “If you try anything, I’ll make you wish you were dead. Understand?”
I shiver more at the cold deliverance than the threat itself.
“Good,” he says, taking my silence for the correct answer. In this game, I don’t have a choice.
I study him as he crouches down to untie my feet. He’s wearing a fitted dress shirt and pants, and he’s not carrying any weapons, at least none I can see. Not that he needs any. His hands are strong enough to inflict lethal damage. And coming unarmed is wise. It eliminates the chance of me disarming him and using his own weapon against him.
He walks around me to work on my wrists. “Need to pee?”
“Yes.”
I hiss when the ropes fall free and he moves my arms to my sides. After hours of being in the same position, even the slight movement hurts. He rubs his big, warm palms over my arms, aiding the circulation. When most of the pins and needles are gone, he pulls me to my feet by my upper arm and guides me outside.
There’s no light around the shed, but I can make out two guards, different ones, in the moonlight. One of them is holding a dog on a leash. The animal bares its teeth when we pass. This is more than a sniffer dog. It’s trained to attack.
“You don’t want them to get their hands on you,” Yan says softly against my ear.
I understand what he means and he’s right. I don’t. I also understand why he brought me out here. It’s to make sure I understand what waits for me if I do somehow manage to overpower him.
He takes me to the same tree, but this time, he doesn’t turn away as I relieve myself. Despite my training, my cheeks turn hot. The tail ends of his shirt hide my private parts, but he stares at me as if he can see right through the shirt. When I’m done, he takes a travel-sized packet of wet wipes from his pocket and hands it to me. I quickly clean myself before wiping my hands, appreciating the small hygienic luxury. Not knowing what to do with the used wipes, I ball them in my fist.
He grabs my arm and steers me back to the shed. The exercise, however minute, is welcome. Some of the ache in my back dissipates.
Back inside, he locks us in and drops the key into the front pocket of his pants. Then he pulls me roughly to the chair.
Indicating the cases, he says, “Open them.”
There’s a bin next to the chair, maybe for blood or vomit when they torture their enemies. I dispose of the wipes in the bin.
“Now, Mink. I don’t have all night.”
Ignoring the accusation in the way he said my code name, I crouch down in front of the cases, flick open the clasps, and flip up the lids. One is filled with an assortment of wigs, moustaches, combs, and glue, and the other with makeup and brushes. How did he get these so fast? One look is enough to tell me these products are on the high end of the scale.
“Pick one,” he says.
I turn my attention back to him. “What?”
“Pick a guy.” His tone is mocking, but I don’t miss the anger running underneath. “Who are you going to turn me into?”
“I don’t remember them by heart. I’ll have to see their faces again.”
He gives me a piercing look as he fishes his phone from his pocket and flicks over the screen without breaking eye contact. Sweat forms on my forehead from the intensity of his stare. If I really disguised those men, I should be able to remember their features. I hold my breath, praying he won’t call me out on it.
He glances briefly at the screen before holding it up to my face.
I let out a silent breath of relief. Looking at him for permission, I lift a hand. He nods. I swipe a finger over the screen, running through the photos of the Delta Force men. I pause on the one with the beard and bushy eyebrows.
He turns the phone back to look at the image. “Ugly bastard.” Leaving the phone well out of my reach on the bench, he turns back to me with crossed arms. “What are you waiting for?”
“You’ll have to sit down.” He’s too tall for me to reach his face.
A little shock runs through me when he grips my hips. His gaze sharpens, as if he knows. He moves us around, reversing our positions, and lowers himself into the chair. Spreading his legs wide with a lazy movement, he pulls me between them.