Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87961 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I pass through the living room, eyeing the guys glued to the television. “She doesn’t leave, and no one fucks her, understood?” I point at Bob in particular.
They wave me off. And I leave, washing my mind of her while I tend to business.
I’ve been in this room with Caleb for nearly three days now. I’m starting to wonder what the hell is going on. Three days, Euan said. Three days, and he was supposed to pay the money, and I walk free. Then again, I don’t exactly trust the word of a guy who would sell out his own girlfriend to a bunch of criminals as collateral. I won’t pretend I’m not hurt; I am. I would never say that Euan is the love of my life or any of that crap, but I thought he cared about me, respected me. I thought he was a decent guy. How wrong I was. Panic is starting to kick in now, and it feels as though the walls are closing in on me. I have to get out of these four walls.
Shit, what if I never get out of here? What about my job? My life? What if they kill me? It’s the waiting that’s killing me, the not knowing.
I glance at Caleb, sprawled casually across the small double bed. He’s wearing a football jersey and keeps intermittently yelling at the TV, watching some game. He’s completely absorbed in it. I study him carefully. He’s the typical American college kid with shaggy, dark hair and dark eyes. He’s good looking, albeit he is still rather wiry for his height, but I can already see that he will bulk out.
I hate to admit it, but he seems nice. He hasn’t given me one death threat. He seems genuinely concerned about my welfare, even though he clearly has no idea what to really do with me. I haven’t really spoken to him since we’ve been locked in here. I’m not going to acknowledge a guy who is aiding my captor. He doesn’t seem bothered, though. He’s perpetually chirpy, constantly trying to feed me, asking if I want to watch a film. He’s wearing me down without even bloody doing anything. I feel like I’m going mad. He obviously works for that maniacal psychopath, but he doesn’t fit in with a gang of murderous thugs like Jude and Rich. Why is he here?
“Yes!” he shouts at the TV.
I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the wall, trying my best to block out the irritating ruckus of the TV.
“Is it really necessary for you to watch this in here? Can’t you go and find another room?” I huff.
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the TV. “No can do, chick. I have to stay with you, but I also have five grand riding on this game. Not fucking missing it.”
“You do know that gambling is a fool’s game, right?”
He flashes me that wide, boyish smile of his. “Not when you’re a statistical genius. It’s all about calculated risk.”
“You’re a statistical genius, really?” I ask sarcastically. He looks like the quarterback. The attractive guy with nothing going on between the ears.
“Not me,” he chuckles. “Jude. He’s got to know exactly which odds are in his favor. He’s good at it. Really good.”
I frown, because I have no idea what the hell he’s on about, but I don’t want to talk about that bastard.
I steer the conversation away. “So, do you have any plans for your life, aside from working for that fuck-wad?” I’m genuinely curious. I can’t help but think that he’s better than this.
He glances away from the TV again and cocks an eyebrow at me. “I’m a paramedic,” he says, shocking the shit out of me.
“Wow, okay. So why the hell are you working for Jude?”
“You’re nosey.” His attention flicks back to the game. “I don’t work for him, well, not really. He’s my brother. I just help out. All this mess just comes with being part of the family.”
I gasp. “I’m sorry, you’re related to him?” I ask incredulously.
He nods, still not looking my way.
What the hell? How on earth can he and Jude possibly share the same genetic makeup? Jude is dangerous and scary as fuck, whilst Caleb is almost sweet. I don’t know, maybe that’s just what they want me to think. Maybe he’s every bit as bad as his brother. I look at his boyish face, and I just cannot summon even a fraction of the fear I feel toward Jude. Now that he’s said it though, I see the similarity in their features. The line of his jaw, the set of his nose, broad and straight.
“How unfortunate for you,” I mumble, and draw my legs to my chest.
He smiles. “You know, you really shouldn’t judge him. You don’t know him.”