Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
The scene was a girl getting strangled by the bad guy.
And he’d been raging at the screen.
“Why the fuck don’t they just play dead?” he’d asked, gesturing with a handful of popcorn, making it scatter across the carpet. “It takes longer to strangle someone than anyone realizes. Three full minutes or something like that. Only pros would know to time it right,” he’d said. “They should just go limp. Play dead.”
I’d rolled my eyes at him, a teenager with a dad who thought he knew it all while, clearly, I was more worldly because all teens thought that nonsense.
Go limp, I swore I could hear his voice in my ear. Play dead.
I used to praise myself at being good at playing a part, enjoying the hell out of theater in middle and high school.
So, staring at my killer, I focused on making my eyes go blank, forcefully unfocusing them, making them seem lifeless.
Slowly, then all at once, I let my body completely slacken.
I tried to keep myself calm as the movement made his hands tighten more for a moment as he held all my weight.
But then, suddenly, like a miracle, his hands were releasing me.
I focused on holding my breath, despite the burn in my chest, begging for oxygen, as he looked down at me for a second as I let my body stay in the unnatural position, legs cocked, arms out in an uncomfortable angle.
“Fucking shame to lose all that pretty,” he said, then turned. “Stay the fuck away from me, mutt,” he growled at Storm as I took a tiny little breath that did little to ease the pain in my lungs.
But I didn’t dare to take the gasping breath I was nearly dying for until the crunch of his footsteps were well off in the distance.
Then I was gulping at air, a fish beached on the sand.
It was that which had Storm rushing over to me, licking at my face as, I imagined, relief flooded his system.
I didn’t dare move. Not yet.
I just lay there, breathing, saying a silent prayer, thanking God, the universe, the angels, and my father that I would live to see another day.
I heard the crunch of tires on the road, making me realize it wasn’t really all that far away. Maybe ten or fifteen yards.
But I was so, so tired.
And everything hurt so, so much.
Storm moved in at my side, warming me with his body, and I wrapped an arm protectively around him.
And let myself drift off.
CHAPTER FIVE
Silvano
I was just fucking asking to be caught and brought in on charges at this point.
There was no goddamn reason for me to still be upstate, crashing in a shitty motel where I had to wear slides in the shower because it didn’t look like it had been cleaned in this century.
But I couldn’t seem to force myself to head back to the city either.
Too much was bothering me about the woman in the woods.
I wasn’t gonna be able to put my mind to rest until I knew a little bit more about her.
I was mentally kicking myself for not following her to the store where I might be able to get in her car, and check the information in her glovebox. Get a name. Some way to look into her.
Regret would get me nowhere, though, as I got myself dressed, and made my way back to the car, telling myself I was just going to camp out near her land, see if she went anywhere. If she did, I would make sure I checked out her car.
Then, armed with that information, I could go home.
Or, at least, that was the story I was telling myself. Whether it was true or not was up for debate.
So, armed with a bag of food on the passenger seat, and the biggest coffee I could buy, I drove out toward the property again, all the while knowing that each time I made my way there, I was upping the chances of being linked to the bodies six feet under.
Still, I found myself parking, rolling down the windows to let the biting early spring breeze move through the stuffy car, and sipping my coffee.
I was maybe only parked for a minute before I heard it.
Barking.
Close.
Closer than I felt it should be, given how deep the hunting cabin was nestled on the property.
And it wasn’t a normal bark, either, the kind a dog might do if it saw a squirrel or heard a weird noise.
It almost sounded, I don’t know, frantic.
It stopped for just a moment, then started up again. And something about it had the hairs on the back of my neck raising as a cool, liquid sensation flowed through my gut.
You didn’t survive long in the criminal underbelly by ignoring your gut instincts.
Mine were telling me that something was wrong.