Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
There's a lot of static at first, almost to the point where I don't think I'm going to get anything of substance. But then I suddenly hear him, not that I have much of a choice when he's yelling.
"And what kind of daughter are you to let some punk you hardly know talk to your father that way?" he bellows. Every muscle in my body wants to jump out of my car and kick her front door down, but it's not my place to do so.
"How was I supposed to know he was going to say that? I didn't ask him to!" she fires back. "And it's not like he's wrong. All you do is scream and yell at me as if I'm still a child, and I'm not! You're so busy treating me like an employee or product that you can't even look at me as your daughter and see that I'm not the child you keep treating me as!"
"If you acted like an adult, you'd be treated like one," he fires back. "Adults handle their responsibilities and fulfill their obligations as they promise to—"
"It was one night and one post!" Morgan exclaims, completely exasperated. "Whether you think so or not, I do have a life outside of social media. I'm allowed to have time to myself to spend with people I want to spend with, not slaving around making videos, going live, or taking photos for the various companies you rope me into working with."
Interesting, I think to myself as I tuck that piece of information in the back of my mind. I make a mental note to talk to Morgan about her social media and her father's role in it, but movement nearby makes me pause. It's then that I notice what looks like an unmarked police car across from me, also watching Morgan's house. The entire time I've been here and been around Morgan, I haven't seen anyone else trailing her or staking out her home. I take my earbuds out and put my phone to sleep before getting out of my car.
The person inside doesn't notice me right away, not until I'm almost at the window. "Hey!" I call out just as he starts his engine and speeds away. My senses kick into overdrive as my feet pound the pavement and I make a mad dash back to my car. Making a quick U-turn, I hit the gas and speed down the street, keeping an eye on the dark car as it moves farther and farther away. At first, I wondered if her father had called the cops. But if the guy was supposed to be there, there wouldn't be a reason for him to take off.
Once we are out of Morgan's neighborhood, I follow him as closely as I can. He weaves in and out of traffic, nearly causing a few accidents when he cut off a couple of drivers while trying to lose my tail. Being in a high-speed chase with no kind of backup is new to me, but I can't lose this guy if I can help it. Dread mixes with the adrenaline pumping through my veins as we quickly approach one of the busiest intersections in the city.
"Don't run the light, don't run the light," I murmur out loud as I practically press the gas pedal to the floor. There are still two cars in front of me, even when merging into another lane. "No!"
The guy makes a sharp left turn and speeds away into the distance while I remain stuck behind the cars that now box me in. I slump down in my seat and shake my head. I'd thought I was the only threat to Morgan since I was contracted on her hit, but it's obvious that I'm not the only one after her. Time is no longer on my side, and if I don't figure this out quickly, all my efforts to save Morgan will be in vain when someone else kills her anyway.
10
MORGAN
It doesn't take me long to realize something is seriously wrong.
It's not unusual for my dad to yell and be angry when I'm late posting things, but this feels different. His anger appears more like a cover-up for something else. When the heat of our earlier argument simmered down, I noticed he seemed a little paranoid. I watch him as he moves from window to window and peek out as if he's waiting for someone or, worse—looking out for someone.
"What are you looking at?" I ask, raising a confused brow at him when he jumps. He waves a dismissive hand at me and returns to looking out of the windows and checking the locks for the millionth time.
"Nothing you need to be concerned about," he mumbles.
"But—"
A solid knock on the front door startles us both, the rest of my words dissolving into nothing the moment I see my father's skin turn pale. Neither of us moves for a moment, the knocking continuing.