Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99494 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I—”
“Please,” I grit out, and she looks like she’s about to listen, but right at that moment, the engine revs once again, causing her eyes to narrow.
“No.” She lifts her chin stubbornly. “I’m not moving until they give me my stuff.”
“Oli—”
“I’m not moving. You’re going to have to pry my dead body from their bumper.”
Fuck me. I don’t remember her being so stubborn when she was younger, but then again, I don’t really know the woman in front of me.
Pulling out my phone from my back pocket, I dial 911, then tuck my cell between my shoulder and ear before I step up behind her and wrap my arms around her in a bear hug.
“What are you doing?” she shrieks when I lift her off of her feet.
Ignoring her, I carry her toward my truck. Then, with her still kicking, wiggling, and shouting for me to put her down, I tell the operator to send an officer to my address. When I get to my truck, I put her on her feet and press her up against the side of it, using my height and weight to hold her in place so she can’t get loose. Opening the door and maneuvering her into the space, I force her up and onto the passenger seat, hearing the semi move forward and catching a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye as it gets closer to my truck.
“I’m not—”
“You’re going to sit here until the police show up,” I clip, cutting her off, and her head jerks back, her eyes flaring with disbelief.
“I’m not a kid. You can’t tell me what to do!” she shouts, attempting to get out.
“I’m well aware that you’re not a kid anymore.” I wrap my hand around her thigh and squeeze, watching her full lips part. “Sit here and talk to the dispatcher until the cops get here.” I shove my cell into her hand, then slam the door shut before she can say anything more.
Hoping like fuck that she stays put but knowing that isn’t likely, I go to the driver’s door of the semi that is now just inches from my truck and motion for the asshole to roll down the window.
“Move your truck,” he grouses.
“The cops are on the way right now.” I plant my hands on my hips, watching the guy in the passenger seat flinch at the mention of the police getting involved. “And I’m guessing you’ve got a contract to deliver the things in this truck to this address, but instead, you’re attempting to extort the woman sitting in my truck, which isn’t going to go over well.”
“Move your truck, or I’m running it over.”
“I’m not going to do that.” I shake my head.
“Move your fucking truck!” he yells, lifting a gun in my direction.
Shit.
“Dude!” The guy in the passenger seat backs toward his door as if the gun is pointed at him.
I hold up my hands. “Don’t be an idiot, man,” I say quietly, sounding much calmer than I feel. “You don’t want to—”
“Don’t point a gun at him!” Olivia shrieks from behind me, cutting me off.
Un-fucking-believable.
I let my head fall back to my shoulders even though I don’t take my eyes off the threat in front of me.
“Go back to the truck, Olivia,” I growl.
“I’m not—”
“Go back to the fucking truck,” I bark, never taking my eyes off the driver, whose panicked gaze is pinging from me to behind me, where I know Olivia is standing.
When I hear a door finally slam behind me, I’m able to drag in a breath. “Put the gun down, man.”
He pushes his arm farther out the window. “Move your truck.”
“Fuck this,” the passenger says, opening his door. “I told you not to fucking try to get more money from her, Derik.”
“What the fuck, Fizz?” Derik swings his head around to face his friend, the gun still pointed at me.
“You know I’m on probation, and Amanda will kick my ass if I go back to jail with her knocked up.”
“We’re not going to jail.”
He’s probably wrong about that, given the current circumstances.
With Derik distracted, arguing with Fizz, I close the distance between me and the truck door. Then, using my height to my advantage, I grab Derik’s wrist with my right hand, hearing him curse as I pull downward and twist, then use my left hand to remove the gun from his grasp. From its weight, I know instantly that it’s a fake, but I still shove it in the back of my jeans as I keep hold of him. Using the leverage of his arm out the window to keep him immobilized, I step up on the rail that runs along the side of the truck.
“Shit.” His friend starts to get out of the cab, and I pin him in place with my glare.