Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
His comprehension of how serious I am comes in the form of a jerky movement that pushes the knife into Cami’s throat, spiking a muffled murmur and a drop of blood to appear. It trickles down her neck.
The rage. Deep, hot, raw rage.
I step forward, feeling it consume me, my blood on fire.
Keep cool.
I. Must. Keep. My. Cool.
It’s hard when I’m mentally lining up the most important shot I’ve ever made.
“Stay back!” Scott shouts, panicked.
“Good-bye.” I close one eye, raise my hand, and pull the trigger. Bang! I see the bullet. I watch as it travels toward my target, the accuracy frightening, and I watch as it sinks dead center into his forehead. He drops like lead as blood splatters Cami’s face.
Chapter 34
CAMI
My constant praying and picturing him has worked. There wasn’t a second of our time together that I didn’t revisit. It was the perfect diversion, something to take me away from the cold brutality of my reality. The second I heard that distant shot, I knew he’d found me. I was manhandled up from the floor by panicked hands, and then I heard Jake’s voice.
The pressure of my captor’s sweaty body against mine was unbearable. I could feel his shakes rippling through me, but fought to repel the effect. I forced myself into stillness. I used the remaining scraps of my energy to keep myself frozen, hardly breathing.
Because I knew what Jake was going to do. I could hear his intention. I could see the wood of the dead tree in his bluebell woodland burst. I knew without question that my kidnapper would be dead within seconds.
The ringing in my ears is painful and the warm liquid coating my face excruciatingly unbearable, but I’m powerless to wipe it away. Without the support of my captor holding me up, my knees give out and I collapse to the concrete floor. All of my held breath tries to break free on the impact, the force of air against the gag making it impossible to catch a breath.
I know it’s only Jake and me in the room now—alive, at least—but I still jump like a frightened animal when I feel his big hands grab me and pull me onto his lap.
He works fast, unbinding my wrists until my bones crack with relief and my muscles spasm back to life. I flex gingerly, pain searing up my arms as he yanks the blindfold away. I slam my eyes shut, the bombardment of dusky light too much after being kept in the dark for hours.
“Oh, Jesus, Cami,” he whispers, stroking at my face, his hands working fast and frantically, feeling me. “Open your eyes, angel.” He pulls away my gag, and I drink in air, my lungs burning in gratitude.
I allow my lids to peel open a tiny bit, needing to see him but still being unable to tolerate the light. His strong thighs beneath my shoulders are the only comfort I can seize and run with, my arms refusing to lift and feel him, my eyes sore, my mouth dry.
Regardless of all that, though, I still feel the most at peace I ever have. I feel safe and hopeful. I feel determined. After what we’ve both just been through, nothing can stop us from being together. Not Jake’s hidden demons, not my dad’s enemies, and not his expectations, either. Nothing.
I open my eyes and blink some focus back, squinting. He’s just a blur of darkness floating above me, the outline of the man I love.
A shadow.
I become agitated, pissed off with my lack of ability to see him more clearly. My hands come up to my face in broken, jerky movements, and I find my eye sockets with my fingers, rubbing some sight back into them. Then I try again, opening my eyes and searching him out.
The blur slowly fades, and Jake slowly forms. All of his face, clear and perfect. It’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. Swallowing, I open my mouth to speak, but my lips stick, frustrating me further. There’s so much I want and need to tell him. He needs to know that I accept him. His secrets, his mistakes, his regrets. He needs to know that I’ll help him to make things right. But the words refuse to come, and when he places a finger over my mouth, settling me, I give up trying to talk.
“I know,” he says quietly, smoothing his hand onto my cheek and cupping it. “I already know, angel.”
I can only nod. It’s feeble and weak, but it’s all I can manage, and when he smiles—a sad but relieved smile—I know he understands.
“I’m taking you home,” he says softly, maneuvering and negotiating my weight into his arms. “Can you hold on?”
It takes everything I have, but I strain to lift my arms around his neck, clinging to him as he rises to his feet.