Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Julius simply rumbles, “You’ll go where I take you.”
Already shaking my head, I state, “No I won’t.”
Then he smiles. A small smile, but a smile at that. “You really think so, little sparrow?”
I glare. “I know so.”
His smile intensifies, and if I weren’t in this fucked-up situation, I would take the time to appreciate that smile. A smile like his deserves appreciation. It’s too bad he’s an asshole sent to kill me. He doesn’t seem like the type to get off on his job.
He steps forward, arms extended. “Relax, li’l bit. I’ll carry you to the house.”
Julius Carter may be a master of the game, but he has made one solid mistake.
He has underestimated my will.
The moment he steps into arm’s reach, I extend my leg, kicking him square in the balls. His breath leaves him in a whoosh, but he reaches out to grab hold of me, his fingers securely fisted into my long hair. Pain radiates through my scalp and my eyes water, but he doesn’t pull, just holds on. I kick him again, this time in the knee, and fight. I watch as the pressure builds inside of him. The vein in his temple bulges and he loosens his grip.
With no time to spare, I shake his hands off me, ripping the sleeve of my blouse, and limp away as fast as I can. Approximately three seconds later, I’m tackled to the gravel, the impact forcing my breath to leave me in a whoosh.
I’m winded.
We struggle.
I hit him, kick him, and even attempt to head-butt him. My hands closed into fists, I fight for my life. Trying to dodge my blows, his arm snakes around my middle, across my chest. I reach back and attempt to pinch him. Anything to get him to let me go.
“Stop hitting me.” This is growled into my ear.
But I don’t stop. I fight harder. I twist in his grip, kick out and hit him wherever I can reach. I don’t stop to think about the fact that I’m hurting myself in the process.
A hand once again tangles in my hair and pulls back harshly. “I said stop hitting me!”
My voice quivering, I plead, “Please don’t take me back.”
Julius stills. After a moment, he mutters, “I don’t have a choice.”
“We all have a choice.”
The hand in my hair loosens. “Most of us do. You lost that right when you framed your husband and let us kill him. You took my right away for me.” He hisses out, “I don’t have a choice.”
Gasping for breath, his body leaves mine, and he pulls me up by my lapel. I stand on shaking legs and yell, “Goddamn it! Just let me go!”
His nostrils flare, and he barely contains his rage as he aims the gun at my chest. “Get inside.”
“No.”
“I have a gun pointed at you, bitch. I have the upper hand. Get in the fucking house.”
My eyes water more from frustration than fear. “I’m not scared of you or your gun. Just let me go. I can’t allow you to take me home. They’ll kill me.”
His jaw tics. “I don’t like repeating myself, Alejandra.”
If he plans to take me home, I feel I have no choice. I limp forward, getting closer and closer to the loaded gun till I’m a hair’s breadth away. Reaching up, I take the barrel in my hand and pull it to my forehead, panting harshly. I grind out, “Do it. Pull the trigger.”
Those blue eyes look at me, into me. My stomach dips. I fight the effect they have on me, just barely. “Don’t think about it, just do it.”
He attempts to lower the gun, and a swift sense of panic fills me. I shuffle forward on my aching heel and take the barrel into my hands, once again using what little strength I have left to lift the gun up to my cheek with shaking hands. I hold it there. My voice hoarse, I utter a rough, “I’m as good as dead. Grant me this one kindness. Kill me before they do.” My eyes shut and I breathe deeply. “Please. Release me.”
The gun is firmly pulled from my grasp, and before I let out the first sob, an arm is wound around me, guiding me to the house. As this is happening, all I can think about is how to get my hands on that gun.
If Julius won’t kill me and he won’t let me go, I’ll just have to kill myself.
“Hey.”
I turn to face Nox, currently in the driver seat of his family truck. He eyes me thoughtfully, carefully, before reminding me, “This is what you wanted, T.”
Looking out of the passenger window to the almost deserted diner, I nod in complete silence. A thought comes to me, and I snuffle a light laugh.
If you’d have asked me five years ago if I’d ever willingly give myself up to the cops, I would’ve told you that it wasn’t in my nature, that I’d rather go down swinging, fighting till my last breath was pulled from my body. But things have changed.