Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
He pulls on a black ski mask and glides ahead of me. Signaling me to wait, he presses a hand to the heavy steel door. It opens easily, without a sound. Did he come here beforehand and oil the hinges? I wouldn’t be surprised.
Victor leans in, his whisper barely stirring my hair. “He’s fond of booby traps, but there won’t be many here because he hasn’t had the time to set them. He was hiding elsewhere. Recent events flushed him out.”
Recent events. Like Victor killing Bruno and presenting his head to me on a platter. A grisly valentine.
I can’t help it. I glance at Victor with a little grin. He lifts his hone-blond brows and signals me. Come?
In answer, I press a thumb and forefinger together and stalk into the warehouse, gripping my Glock tight. The safety’s off, and it leads the way. The vest Victor gave me lays like a stone on my chest, but I welcome the weight. It keeps my heart from flying from my chest.
But I’m calm and centered as I move deeper into my enemy’s hiding place.
I don’t need luck or fate.
I have Victor.
Once inside, he signals me to go left. There’s a TV buzzing somewhere off to the right, but I trust him. A quick glance at the concrete floor shows faint footprints in the dust and a glint of steel wire.
Booby trap number one.
We round a huge shipping container, and I stop when he signals me to.
He points at a camera overhead. We back up and find a different way through the stacked crates and past a few big machines folded up like the carcasses of giant dead insects. Victor points out more cameras, another trip wire—booby trap number two—and a patch of disturbed dust that seems to cover a metal plate of some sort. Every step of the way, he uses the hand signals he taught me during my captivity to guide me safely forward. We sidle carefully past booby trap number three, all while an announcer on TV narrates a baseball game.
We’ve taken care not to kick up too much dust, but it hangs thick in the air. I breathe through my mouth, willing myself not to sneeze.
The TV noise is coming from a small room up ahead. Once an overseer’s office, the grimy windows mute the yellow light, but it glows like a beacon of light and sound in the forgotten space. There’s a set of footprints leading from it to the back of the warehouse, to an exit or bathroom or both. Victor and I creep around until we’re in front of the door. Through it, we have a straight line of sight into the cramped room. There’s a shelf with a microwave on top and a mini fridge below. Takeout containers and potato chip bags litter the floor. Just out of sight, on a sagging couch, Stephanos lounges in ratty slippers.
He’s just sitting there in his sweatpants, watching TV and eating chips. Living his life long after he snuffed my mother’s out.
Victor, slowly so I can see him, draws a long knife. A good throwing knife. He mimes tossing it at one of the booby traps behind us. The noise will startle Stephanos and drive him out of his nest.
Right into the line of fire.
I nod and raise my Glock. Victor slips forward, and I bite back a hiss. He’s sneaking closer to get a better shot at hitting the booby trap but also to cover any other hidden exits Stephanos might use. My instinct is to call him back and tell him to stop, but I don’t.
I trust him.
He raises the knife and pauses. I reaffirm my grip on my gun.
His throw is so quick and smooth I don’t see the knife. But the instant it hits the trip wire, there’s a discordant twang, and a tower of boxes comes crashing down.
Stephanos is up and racing out the door toward me. His yellow-white shirt fills my vision, and I brace myself and take aim.
Crack!
The force of the shot reverberates up my arm. Acrid smoke fills my nose. I fire again and again, my ears deafened by the noise. The pulse of the gun is a steady heartbeat against my palm. In the distance, through the gray clouds, Stephanos jerks and dances.
There’s a clap of noise and an explosion of heat that sends me staggering to the right. The world is muted beyond my buzzing ears.
Something else knocks into me, and I crash to the floor. The weight isn’t sharp or too heavy, and I understand what it is as the dust settles. Victor. Covering me with his huge body.
He’s on his feet in the next second, peeling me off the floor and backing me into a safe corner. I keep my Glock out, pointing into the dancing dust cloud at his back. Covering him like he covered me.