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)
“You know, this is the one mistake I made with Eagle,” she tells me. “I was going to go back for her ID after she was dead, but the bitch got loose and escaped. Even if she had escaped, she would have been as good as dead without her ID. Just like you are now.”
“You’re a fucking joke,” I tell her. “Your mistake wasn’t just not taking her ID, it was assuming it would still be there after her body burned. What kind of dumbass are you?”
She clenches her jaw. “Call me a dumbass all you want, but you’re the one doused in gasoline and chained to a fucking chair,” she tells me before turning her back and making her way to the door. “See you in hell, bitch.”
And with that, she pulls out a packet of matches from her pocket, lights one, and as she stares at the small flame at the end of the match, she grins, truly getting off on this shit.
The moment seems to drag out forever and as she tosses the lit match back into the small suite, I watch with horror as it falls to the ground and quickly takes effect. I hear the door slam, but my attention is focused solely on the flames quickly licking through the suite.
“Fuck. FUCK. FUCK. FUCK!”
I tear at my binds, my bloody wrists screaming in protest as the flames create a thick smoke that immediately fills my lungs.
The panic is like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life, and all I can do is sit back and watch as thick, raging flames spread through the suite. At least this way, Reaper doesn’t have to worry about killing me himself because at the rate these flames are turning into a full blaze, there’s no saving me now.
The couch catches light, sending the flames soaring so much closer toward me as the locked suite quickly becomes overwhelmed with thick, billowing smoke, leaving nowhere for it to escape.
The heat is like nothing I’ve ever known, and as my skin starts to sting from the heat of the flaming couch, I cry out in agony, knowing it’s only going to get a million times worse. Fear grips me in a chokehold as tears stream down my face. I’m not ready to die, but tonight I’ll meet my maker.
I start to cough, my lungs desperate for sweet oxygen, but all I inhale is the thick smoke clouding the air. It’s too much, and as the flames lick closer and closer, the heat becomes unbearable. I cry out, screaming for help. There must be someone in this resort who can help, but who the fuck is going to run into a fire like this? They’ll be better off running as far as their legs can take them.
My lungs scream in agony, and as I take shallow, desperate breaths, I realize this is it, and I pray to whoever exists above that the smoke claims me before the flames do.
My vision blurs, and I will myself to succumb quickly as I cough and sputter over the thick smoke, choking on it as it bears down on me, suffocating me with its intense force. The coughing claims me, and just as my head lolls and the unconsciousness creeps back in, a shadow cuts through the smoke, pulling at my bound wrists, but it’s too late.
There’s no saving me now.
20
REAPER
Tracking The Boneyard Slayer back to the home he shares with his brother, I watch as they do what they can to recover from their injuries. The two of them clearly have no idea what they’re doing when it comes to first aid.
To be honest, after the shot Siren took on The Boneyard Slayer the other night, he’s lucky to be alive. The bullet pierced his shoulder, and from what I can tell, it’s still lodged deep in there, but had it been just an inch to the left, it would have gone right through him, and the fucker probably would have bled out.
As for The Texan Reaper, it seems the asshole is recovering just fine. His eye is still swollen shut, and there will be plenty of bruising staring back at him in the mirror for the next few weeks, but from what I can tell, he has no issue getting around. They’ll both be back on their feet in no time, and when they are, I’m going in for the kill.
I sit back and prepare for a long night of recon when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and my brows furrow. Nobody knows this number. It’s not available to the public or even listed on any telemarketer lists. The only people capable of finding it are those who are specifically searching for me in the form of one hell of an incredible hacker.
I glance at the screen for a moment. I don’t like taking calls for the slight risk of being traced, but something compels me to hit accept and lift the phone to my ear. Without saying a word, I simply listen to whatever needs to be said.