Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 434(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to die right here in this chair, burned alive. If I’m lucky, the smoke inhalation will kill me first, and if I’m not . . . I guess I’m about to discover how it feels to have your flesh burn right off your body.
“Ahhh, well look who decided to join the party,” Gasoline chimes as she glances up from dousing the couch in gas. “I was worried you were never going to come to, and that just doesn’t seem like any fun. What’s the point of burning someone alive if they’re not even conscious enough to hear their screams?”
Holy fucking shit. This woman is batshit crazy.
She moves on from the living room, leaving a thick trail of gas as she struts through the small kitchen, making sure she doesn’t miss even an inch of the suite. “You know, it was appallingly easy to track you down,” she tells me. “At first, I thought you were going to be a threat. Your name has this whole stigma about it, and I foolishly believed it to be true. Yet here you are, taken down without even the hint of a fight. Kinda disappointing actually.”
I clench my jaw, not willing to give her the satisfaction of seeing my fear, but my lack of response doesn’t seem to bother her. Hell, she doesn’t even look at me as she continues with her little taunts.
“I’ve been tracking you for days, and if it weren’t for that dumbass Boneyard Slayer shooting up that other place, I probably wouldn’t have found you at all, so you have him to thank for your untimely death,” she explains. “Though I have to admit, you let me down.”
I can’t help the scoff that tears out of my mouth. “Oh please. Tell me how exactly I managed to do that.”
“Ahhhh, Princess Barbie finally joins the conversation.” The redhead claps her hands before turning her wicked stare on me, only after dealing with the lethal one of Reaper’s, hers is nothing but child’s play. “I wanted to see how the elite live, steal your tricks of the trade, and gather what information you’d been able to find on the other contenders, but it’s become more than clear that you have nothing, and instead of spending your time doing recon, you’ve been too busy getting your rocks off with Reaper. You’re pathetic, not even a hint of a trace on the other contenders, just some whore bitch, waiting around like a sitting duck, just begging to be picked off. You’re so fucking pathetic, you didn’t even see me coming.”
I roll my eyes and instantly regret it as the subtle movement does nothing but make my headache that much worse. “That’s where you’re wrong,” I tell her. “But it’s not my fault you just have no idea where to look. I know every detail about every last contender. I know where they’re staying, where they go for lunch, and when they took their last shit. I know everything about you, bitch. I know how you killed your whole family, burned them alive, and then went fucking crazy. You’ve spent more time in mental hospitals than out of them.”
Gasoline roars in anger, and it’s clear she doesn’t appreciate being insulted, but honestly, I couldn’t give a shit. It’s not as though sweet-talking her and being her best friend is somehow going to get me out of here.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” she snaps, throwing the gas at me, drenching me from head to toe. She steps right into me, holds the gas can above my head, and begins to pour it over my hair, letting it cover my face in some bullshit attempt at trying to waterboard me. “Say what you want, but it won’t fucking matter when I’m through with you.”
I sputter over the gas pouring down my face, and I’m grateful when the can runs empty. She huffs and throws it aside, but one thing is for sure, I’m not just screwed, I’m completely fucked.
“Don’t mind me,” she says, patting down my pockets and grinning to herself as she finds exactly what she’s looking for. She digs into my pocket and pulls out the stack of eight IDs I’ve been collecting over the past two weeks. “Oh my, you really have been busy. Perhaps I underestimated you after all. Guess that really doesn’t matter now.”
She slides the stack into her back pocket before continuing to pat me down until she finds mine. I’ve kept it separate this whole time. “Ahh, here we go,” she chimes as she holds up the little identification card. “Kienna James. Hmm, I took you as a Jessa or a Katie, something a little streamline for a streamlined bitch like you.”
The sound of my legal name on her tongue is worse than the thought of being burned alive. I have to clench my jaw to not take the bait, despite how it has my stomach clenching in agony.