Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Still, I flew at it, yanking open the door, and closing myself inside.
Collapsing back into the door, I gasped for breath, promising myself that I would get some sort of hardcore workout routine and work on my stamina. Though, it might have to wait until after some serious physical therapy for my poor, aching ankle that was in no way ready for that kind of run yet.
It was okay, though.
The pain was good.
It meant I’d gotten away.
Now I just needed to catch my breath, then keep going.
Until I got to Voss.
I was still sucking in greedy breaths when there was a slamming sound behind me, making me gasp, making my blood run cold.
Could Jim have recovered already?
Then come for me?
Now pissed off?
I jerked away from the doors, looking for something in the shed—anything—to defend myself with.
My hands had just closed around the pole that had likely once been attached to the rake in the corner.
It wasn’t much.
But it was something.
And then the doors were flying open.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Voss
You had to appreciate stupid fucking criminals.
Not more than two seconds after flying into the abandoned building, I heard voices.
One, hysterical. Maybe in pain?
The other, trying to be calm and soothing.
I flew in that direction, my hand wrapped around my gun, my finger itching to slide to the trigger and pull and pull and pull.
I’d been angry a lot in my life.
I’d acted on anger plenty of times.
But I’d never been so full of bloodlust as I was right then.
Because I was sure that was Sylvie’s blood in that rig.
Because they’d put their hands on her.
Again.
They’d hurt her.
Again.
And they had to pay.
I wanted to bash my fists into their faces until the bones bent and collapsed, until the flesh tenderized, until I made mincemeat of them.
I wanted to put enough bullet holes into them that I could fucking see through their bodies.
I wanted to wrap my hands around their throats and watch the life drain from their eyes.
Breaking into the room, I found a glorified squatter’s spot. A makeshift bed on the floor. Some camping lights. Beer.
The only thing unexpected in the room was the plastic storage tub with Sylvie’s fucking lizard in it, his lights hooked up to some sort of battery pack.
I expected Ben.
The man from the picture.
I hadn’t anticipated his… brother.
He had to be his brother, judging by their faces. The other one was just what Ben would look like if he was thinner.
The thinner one had his pants around his ankles and his hands cupping his dick.
Sylvie wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there.
Because she’d… done something to that fuckhead’s dick?
That seemed like the only possible explanation.
That was my girl.
The only problem was, it meant that some part of her had needed to get up close and personal with that part of him.
And for that, I was pretty sure I wanted to saw his fucking dick off. With a butter knife.
It was right then that the two men seemed to sense my presence.
Ben’s face fell as he took a step toward me.
There was no hesitation.
My finger slid to that trigger as I aimed.
Then I took out that motherfucker’s kneecap.
He dropped down on a roar, his hands cupping his shattered patella, the blood pouring out from between his fingers.
I didn’t give him much attention, though, as I turned to the bastard who thought that his dick belonged anywhere near my woman. Or any woman who wasn’t willing, for that matter.
I tucked my gun.
Then I flew at him.
I wasn’t truly aware of anything then, just the anger, just the worry about Sylvie, just the bone-deep need to make him pay for scaring her, for hurting her.
My fists just pounded and pounded, knuckles breaking open, colliding with flesh, then bone.
“He’s dead, man,” Junior’s voice called as his hand landed on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.
I seemed to snap back right then, looking down at the mess I’d made of the man.
But Junior was right.
He was dead.
Getting back to my feet, I whirled.
Just in time to see Junior walking over toward Ben who was sobbing and holding his knee.
I probably wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it myself. But cool and calm as could be, Junior raised his gun, pressed it to the back of the man’s head, and pulled the trigger.
I watched as the bullet exited through his forehead before he crashed forward onto the ground.
“Go find Syl,” Junior demanded, tucking his gun away.
Syl.
Fuck.
I’d wasted time on all the beating when I could have been finding her. Telling her that she was safe. Taking her home.
I turned and flew through the building, her name bellowing out of me as I went.
But there was no answer.
If she’d broken the guy’s dick, she would have ran as far and as fast as she could, not stuck around in the building, waiting to be found by a livid man with a bent dick.