Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“Stand up, baby boy,” he said as he pointed the gun toward me. “It’s time.”
I stared at him. I guess a part of me had thought he really wouldn’t do it—that he couldn’t do it. I was his son, for fuck’s sake.
“Why?” I finally asked. “What horrible thing did I ever do that made you not love me? That made you hate me enough to want me dead?”
He smiled. “Oh, sweetheart. I’ve hated you from the moment of conception.” He tilted his head. “You know you aren’t my child, right? Surely you’ve figured it out by now? You look nothing like me. You act nothing like me. You don’t have the passion for life and success that I do. There’s no way you could be my child. Your mother has always been a whore. Always, baby boy. Now…stand the fuck up. I’ve dealt with you for as long as I can take it—milked your bank accounts dry and you were too stupid to ever know it. Now I’ll cash in on your insurance policies and have a fabulous rest of my life.” He reached down and jerked me to my feet. “Oh, after I help your mother commit suicide after losing you, of course.”
I had no idea what it was that suddenly motivated me to fight—the thoughts of losing Landon before we ever had a chance, the idea of that bastard laying a finger on my mother, or the fabulous realization that he was not my father, that his blood didn’t flow in my veins. Whatever it was, probably all three, I slammed my head straight into his nose. It rung my bell, but when I heard bones crack in his nose, it made me forget all about my own pain. Picturing how lethal Landon would look if he were fighting, I raised my knee and rammed it into his crotch while my tied hands swung around to punch him in the face again.
He howled in pain as he dropped to his knees, one hand cupping his balls and the other reaching for his face. Since he was still holding the gun, he jabbed his already injured nose and yelled even louder. I could do this. I honestly had a fucking chance against this moron. Landon would be so proud of me when he heard how I’d protected myself.
I lunged for him again, planning a beat-down of epic proportions, but before I could reach him, he swung wildly and clipped the side of my face with the gun. Stars flashed in front of my eyes and a hot liquid flowed into my eye. The pain caused me to stagger backward and I felt the backs of my knees hit the bench seat on the edge of the boat.
And…just like that…the idea of me being capable of saving myself dissolved in an instant. With me already off balance, it took zero effort for him to give me one more shove, sending me over the edge of the boat. I screamed in fright, causing lake water to suck into my mouth, down my throat, and into my lungs. In the dark water, I couldn’t see anything—not which way was up or which way was down. My body, wanting to survive so Landon could hold me again, fumbled around and fought against the water. It was no use, though. Just like when I was young, I felt myself twirling around in the water, unable to find my way to the surface.
My head hurt from where the gun had smashed against me. My lungs hurt from the lack of oxygen. My mind struggled against the fear consuming me. My heart…my heart ached for Landon.
Even under the water, probably somewhere near the bottom of the lake, I heard the boat’s engine roar to life. He was leaving me. It was over. Facing certain death, I suddenly stopped fighting. What was the point?
As soon as my wild flailing stopped, my head broke the surface of the water. It was eerily black—nothing at all visible, not even the moon. When I started to sink again, my arms, still taped together, rose above my head and banged against something hard. My fingers fumbled with whatever I’d snagged and wrapped around the slippery, cold surface.
It was some sort of pole, but I didn’t give a damn if it was an alligator. As long as it was out of the water, I would hold onto the fucker. Wherever the fuck I was, the engine of the boat was loud enough to nearly deafen me. My hands kept slipping from the pole, so I wrapped my entire arm around whatever it was. I looked around but it was still inky black darkness
And then we started to move…
It took mere milliseconds to realize I was somehow under the boat—it was the type that lifted up out of the water beneath it, but one couldn’t see that from the side. It was barely moving, but I knew that wouldn’t last much longer. Still unsure of what part of the boat my arms bear-hugged, I fumbled around enough to lift my legs out of the water and wrap them around the object, too.