Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
He raised his head and snaked a hand over her abdomen, his gaze hungry and full of intent. He could look at her however he wanted as long as his fingers continued their prowl upward.
Inching along her ribs, he teased each bone in his path toward her tit. His position was just…about…
Perfect.
She captured his arm, shifted it diagonally across her chest, and held it tightly against her. Tight enough to widen his eyes.
Strengthening her grip, she lifted her knees above his head and pinned his neck between his own shoulder and her inner thigh.
“The fuck?” He writhed and twisted, trying to jerk free.
His other hand swung toward her face, but she knocked it away and clamped her legs around his thrashing neck. Jesus, he was strong for a skinny fucker.
She yanked harder on his arm and adjusted her hips, maneuvering him into a restrained position.
Finally. Adrenaline surged through her veins, and her breaths came in short bursts.
Realization glistened in the stark white of his eyes, and he snarled like a rabid animal.
That’s right, baby. I know who you are. You’re so fucked.
He bucked his chest against the mattress, his teeth snapping too damn close to her stomach.
“I have kids.” His sunken cheeks blanched, his voice a choked rasp. “I’m a father.”
Good for him. She had a father once. And a mother and sister. Her heart twisted, the loss as raw as the day she discovered their deaths. They would never know what happened to her. Would never know she made it out of that attic of shackles and horrors. She’d escaped a fate worse than death.
The same fate this piece of shit inflicted on others.
“You should’ve thought about your kids…” She hooked her foot beneath her other knee and squeezed her legs. “Before you stole someone else’s.”
The compression of her thighs and the pulling grip on his arm crushed his bicep against his throat, strangling his ability to speak. And breathe.
Her muscles strained to defend the position as he kicked and rolled his hips. Keeping his arm pressed beneath his chin, she swatted away his attempts to punch her with his free hand. Over and over, he flung his fist toward her face, fighting for blood, for air, wild in his desperation.
No bueno.
If done effectively, the chokehold would cut off the blood flow in the arteries on both sides of the neck. It should’ve been over within seconds. Why was this motherfucker still squirming?
She tightened her legs and cocked her head, studying the waning twitches in his body. Unconsciousness would come soon. She settled in and tried to steady her heartbeat.
Months of stalking Austin’s worst criminals had led her to Larry McGregor. Mailman by day and slave trader by night, he spent his downtime hooking up with sleazy women at the local bar. Bet he regretted that vice right about now.
Her thighs tensed, burning to snap his neck. But she needed him alive.
Surveillance confirmed he held a teenage girl in an abandoned barn twenty minutes outside of Austin. Knowing her team was extracting the girl at that very moment should’ve made it easier to breathe. But there were more Larrys, more enslaved girls, the trafficking network in Austin vast and well-funded.
The only way to stop it was to cut off the head. First, she needed to know how to find that head.
Larry’s body fell limp between her legs. She waited a beat, pushing at his gaping jaw before slipping from beneath him and checking his pulse. Slow and even. Unlike her own.
From her purse on the floor, she unwrapped a maxi pad and removed the plastic cable ties she’d hidden in the cotton. How long before he woke?
Fuck, she was out of her realm here. She wanted to end him, but if she didn’t secure the information she needed, another would take his place, and another, and another. This would be her first attempt at torture. Did she have the balls to do it?
She quickly zipped his wrists to his ankles and stuffed the maxi pad in his mouth, her fingers twitching through the movements. Matias would have a body to dispose of soon enough.
Matias. Every call she made to him brought a new line of questioning. His and hers. Neither would budge in their secrecy.
A sudden chill crept over her. Just thinking about him made her feel vulnerable and…naked. She slid on her dress and heels.
She hadn’t seen him since he was eighteen, not since the day those hard-looking men led him out of the citrus grove. Over the years, he told her he was obligated to stay with them. Were they cartel? He refused to confirm her assumption, but he didn’t deny it either. What was she supposed to do? Trust him? No way in hell.
He was a thirty-year-old…what? Grave-digger? Hitman? Underling for a drug lord? Whatever his line of work, he always got rid of dead bodies for her. The first was the man who intended to buy her. Followed by six more buyers and their bodyguards for her six fellow slaves. Her last call was four years ago. To collect Van Quiso’s body.