Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 69242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“Okay Maze, you got this,” I told myself but I wasn’t sure I did have it.
The door opened with a kick and Poe appeared first, a dark glare on his face at finding me straddling the windowsill, half in and half out. As soon as he started to move, I kicked my other leg out of the window until I stood on the worn and slippery tiles on the overhang.
“Get that bitch!” Brendan’s voice sounded closer. Louder.
I stepped to the edge and looked down.
“Fuck,” I said. “That’s a far jump.”
But another look through the window showed both men advancing on me.
“What the fuck,” I whispered and jumped. Falling felt like it took forever but the angry shouts behind me told a different story.
I landed ungracefully, thinking about how I should’ve paid closer attention to those stupid boy tricks my little brother Stone always tried to teach me. If I had, I wouldn’t have twisted my ankle when I landed.
I tried to stand up three times on my weak ankle, falling down every fucking time.
“Shit!” This time I swore out loud.
The fourth time I pushed myself off the ground and put just enough weight on the left ankle to make it useful. I stood tall and took in the yellow house with the cracked paint and faded tilted shutters, classic crack house, revival style.
Inside one window, I caught sight of a familiar face. “Wyatt?”
The sound of his name drew his attention. First a smile appeared, and then shock that he’d been found in a compromising position. One girl, naked except for a thong had her face buried between his bare legs while the other, stuck a needle in his arm. He flashed a charming smile and put his free hand up to his lips in a shushing motion.
I flipped him off and looked up, where Brendan still glared down at me, shouting.
“You’ll wish I killed you when Poe gets you.”
Shit. That was enough to send me hobble-running down the dark block as fast as I could.
It was a shitty neighborhood. Not just poor, but also riddled with crime, which meant I couldn’t stop just anywhere to ask for help or I might end up in a worse fate than whatever sick shit Brendan Rhymer had planned for me.
One block turned into two and then three, just rows of two and three-story rental homes with a few broken down apartment buildings in between. No place that seemed like they would even open the door, never mind help a girl in need. It’s probably why they chose this neighborhood.
The next block turned into small businesses, owned and operated by people who lived in the neighborhood, I guessed. I passed a check cashing store, two liquor stores and a dark storefront before I found Ronda’s Chicken Shack.
“Oh, thank fuck!” I rushed inside and leaned against the door, breathing heavy from the run.
“Oh honey, we don’t allow that kind of business in here.” I opened my eyes and found two people inside the restaurant, an older man in the corner with a chess table in front of him and a plate beside him. And a plump woman in a stained apron with her hair tied up into an impressive topknot.
I looked down at my sliced up dress and sexy lingerie with a groan. I had to tell her something to get her to help, but with no clue what Brendan and his family were into, I had to be careful. These people could be working for him, too.
“I’m not a working girl. Some guys grabbed me and drugged me,” I told her and showed her the ugly bruise starting to form on my arms and stomach. “I ran away from them, but I don’t know exactly where I am.”
Her perfectly sculpted brows pulled into a worried frown and she came to me, ushered me behind the counter, only stopping once to talk to the old chess player.
“Keep an eye on things, Larry, and if any crazed men show up, call Crayton.” She smiled at me and moved me toward the back of the restaurant. “I’m Ronda.”
I wanted to know who Crayton was, but I had more important problems at the moment so I smiled. “I’m Maisie. Can I use your phone?”
“You want to call the police? They might come for you, but it’ll be a long time. No one gets any love in this part of town, black, brown or white,” she said with a pointed smile, but she handed over her cell phone anyway.
“The ole po-po has forgotten us out here.” The man named Larry said.
Good thing I wasn’t planning to call the cops. I shrugged and tried to seem disappointed.
“Then I guess I’ll call someone else.”
I debated whether to call Uncle Max or Virgil for so long, Ronda put a hand on my shoulder.