Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Naz.
My Naz.
Oh God.
He's holding a knife, fisting the handle of it, the tip pointing to the floor. I catch a gleam of the metal. I exhale sharply, a worried cry, as I stare at him. The noise catches Naz's attention, his eyes seeking me out. It sets my captor into motion as he darts my direction, yanking me off the ground.
I almost do it again. I almost black out. It's only a few seconds, as I slump in the man's arms, damn near hitting the floor. He grips me tightly, though, and grunts as he forces me onto my feet, shaking me like that'll keep me conscious, but it only aggravates my queasiness.
A massive arm is snaked around me, forcing me on my tiptoes. Naz doesn't look at the man right away, his eyes on me, studying me, making sure I'm okay.
Am I okay?
I see it as Naz's nose twitches, his posture stiffening, his grip on his knife tightening. Maybe I'm not. After a moment, he glances past me, above me, looking at the man for the first time.
Something suddenly sets Naz off, almost like he's in a panic. He takes a few steps toward us, his expression darkening, when the man reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. At first I think it's a knife as I catch a gleam of metal, but as I cut my eyes that direction, I see it's a lighter.
A silver Zippo.
The man flips it open and holds it up in front of me, his thumb on the wheel. Naz pauses suddenly. It's like he hit a brick wall. Something flashes in his eyes, something I'm not used to seeing on him.
Fear.
The darkness seems to melt away as his eyes seek me out again. This isn't the cold, calculating monster the man wanted to draw here. In front of me stands a terrified man. I can tell it from the look on his face.
I see him breaking right in front of me.
Naz's voice is low, threatening, as he says, "You wouldn't dare."
The man responds right away. "Try me."
I expect Naz to do just that, but he doesn't move an inch. He does nothing. Nothing. He stands there, clutching the knife, staring at me, desperation shining through. Holy fuck, he's seriously scared. What the hell is happening?
"Let her go," Naz says.
"Drop the knife and I'll think about it."
I almost fucking laugh. Yeah, right. Like Naz is going to do that. But all at once, without a second of hesitation, he opens his hand and the knife clatters to the concrete.
He listens.
He drops the goddamn knife.
Whatever is making me foggy must be seriously fucking with me, because none of this is adding up.
Why would he do that?
"Kick it over here," the man orders, and again, Naz listens. He kicks the knife right at us. It comes to a stop by my feet.
"Let her go," Naz repeats, his voice borderline pleading. "You want me, you got me. Just leave her out of this."
"Naz," I whisper. "What's happening?"
Naz looks at me but he doesn't answer my question.
My captor, on the other hand, is eager to chime in. He pulls me tighter to him, waving the lighter in front of my face. "Do you smell it? I know Vitale does. It's on me, and on you, and since he walked in, it's probably on him now, too. It's all over the room, it's in the air, and it's clinging to our clothes, but especially yours. You're coated in it, little girl. I made sure of that. And all it needs is one little spark, one flick of my thumb, and you'll go right up. Whoosh."
Do I smell it?
I do.
I've smelled it since the second I saw him.
"What is it?" I ask, the words coming out as a strangled cry. Holy shit, he's going to burn me. He's going to burn me alive.
"Ether."
It's Naz that answers that time.
Ether.
I've taken enough chemistry in school to recognize that word. I couldn't tell you what it's used for, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, ether is highly flammable.
"No… I just... No! You can't!" I start to struggle as tears start streaming from my eyes. "It's on you, too. You can't do it. You'll go up in flames."
The man leans down, closer to my ear, as he whispers, "So?"
Jesus Christ, he doesn't care.
No wonder he was so anxious.
It's a suicide mission.
"Let her go," Naz says for the third time, his voice louder, more threatening.
"Why should I?" the man asks.
"Because she's pregnant."
The man laughs at that. He laughs, like it's amusing. Like me being pregnant makes this all the more entertaining. And I know it then. I know he's not going to let me go. He's not going to just let me walk out of here. Maybe there was some second-guessing, but it was never about me. It was just self-preservation. But it's too late for that now. He wants to kill Naz but more importantly, he's here to torture him.
He's going to torture him by torturing me.
No. He can't do it. I can't let him.
This can't be happening.
Something snaps inside of me then. I can feel it. It's like the walls holding me together start crumbling, the panic pushing its way through like an overflowing river. Headlights flash in the windows yet again, drawing the man's attention, distracting him long enough for me to do something. Terrified, I lash out, struggling in his arms, my arm thrusting back, my elbow going straight into his gut. Hard. His grip on me slips and he loses hold of the lighter. The man goes to retrieve it, and I react in the moment.
I have to.
Reaching down, I grab the knife, the one Naz brought with him.
I recognize it.
It came straight out of our kitchen.
One second it's firmly in my hand; the next second I'm swinging the damn thing. I don't stop to think about what the hell I'm doing, because if I do, I might hesitate.
There's no time for hesitation, not when our lives are at stake.