Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
That meant there was exactly one exit.
A staircase.
That was likely heavily guarded.
Great.
So the best bet was to take one guy down, get his weapon, and shoot my way out.
Not ideal.
But I would do whatever it took.
“Fuck it, help me drag her to the chair,” Brett demanded, likely facing down the disapproval of his boss, and wanting to get the show on the road.
I forced my body not to cooperate. Dead weight was hard to move, let alone lift, even for two men.
I waited until they had me upright, my head deceptively lolling to the side, before I made my move.
I knew the second my eyes opened, though, that I likely wasn’t going to get away, no matter how hard I punched, or how quickly I moved.
There were too many of them.
By the time Brett wiped the blood off of his lip, the chattering guys from further away rushed over, four men wrestling me onto, then holding me against, a chair as Brett slipped zip ties around my wrists.
At the last possible second, I arched my wrist outward, creating just the smallest bit of space between it and the zip tie, knowing that I could work it looser. It would hurt and get bloody, but I could do it.
My shoulders screamed at the awkward position, but that was the least of my concerns as Brett moved in front of me, a wicked sneer on his lips, and a dark anticipation in his eyes.
“You’ve been difficult to find lately,” he said.
“Then you haven’t been looking very hard,” I shot back. “I mean, that Chet guy found me, of course,” I said, nodding. “But he never made it back to you, did he?”
“Enough,” the Miller widow snapped, walking forward to backhand me across the face, her face all splotchy with her anger.
“Pegged you for a woman who let the men do all their dirty work for them,” I said, staring her down.
“I can handle myself when the situation arises,” she said, voice as tight as her expression. “But the point of leadership is I don’t have to. Something you wouldn’t know anything about. Why don’t you have some fun?” she asked, looking at Brett. “I’ll be over there,” she said, waving toward the other end of the basement.
With that, we all waited for the sounds of her heels to retreat before Brett turned back to me, wicked delight clear in his face.
“While it’s not as fun when you aren’t writhing around underneath me,” Brett started, “I think I can still find a way to enjoy myself for a while.”
I slowly pulled in a breath, telling myself I would do everything in my power not to scream. No matter what he did to me.
At least he wouldn’t be raping me while tied to a chair. And if he valued parts of his anatomy not being bitten off, he’d be smart to keep them away from my mouth.
The first strike came quickly, harder by far than the widow’s, making my lip split, and the taste of blood trickle into my mouth.
“Get her good,” the other idiot cheered as Brett cocked back and swung again.
I focused on my breathing as the hits kept coming, on covering up the way I was working one wrist free by pretending to fight against all of my binds, feeling the plastic strips cut into my wrists and ankles, but none worse than the one I was working on as the skin burned and broke, then bled.
My face felt like a big bruise, and I was worried about the integrity of one of my back teeth, seeing a trip to the dentist in my near future, getting another implant drilled into my jaw.
Problems for another day, though.
“Why don’t you have some fun?” Brett asked the other guy who’d been standing around watching. “Maybe her ribs could use a little attention,” he suggested, moving away to flex his sore knuckles.
I hinged as much to my side as possible, ignoring the objection in my opposite shoulder, trying to protect my ribs, and force him to hit my stomach instead.
I was just about to yank my hand fully free and just… try to grab a weapon to use in a seated position until I could try to break the chair, and free my ankles.
When there was a click.
Then a slam.
Making the men pause as they ordered others to investigate.
Was it just the super?
Or anyone who would care and help?
Not that a normal person stood a chance against these fucks. Especially as they produced guns.
The widow came running back, voice higher, more frantic. As much as she liked to boast about her leadership, she clearly didn’t have the temperament for it.
She moved behind me, pulling out a gun.
The shots rang out, making my breath catch, sure that whatever help might have come was gone.
But there was more cursing from the men, giving me hope.