Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
"Roman." Another wave of fear hits me at his words. I don't want to shoot anyone, but he isn't here yet, and I'm completely on my own. If they make it upstairs before he gets here, I'm going to have to defend myself.
Please, God, let him get here before they find me.
"Do it," he demands.
I squeeze myself out of the corner as soon as I hear the command in his voice. I punch in the code—Tahani's birthday—and then pull the safe open. He's got a small arsenal stored inside. I don't know anything about guns, so I just blindly grab one that looks like it'll comfortably fit in my hand and then push the safe door closed and scramble back into the corner.
"Take the safety off, baby," he instructs me when I tell him that I have the gun. His voice is calm and steady as he guides me through the process of sliding the safety back.
My hands shake so hard that I have to try twice before I manage to pull it back.
"Got it," I whisper when I'm done, and then I pause. The sounds downstairs stop as quickly as they started. "They stopped breaking stuff," I tell him. "I don't know if they're still inside."
"Jesus Christ, move out of the fucking way," he barks, and then I hear his horn blare. "Baby, I need you to hang up and call 911 for me."
"No," I whimper. Tears pour down my cheeks at the thought of hanging up with him, pleading with him not to make me. I'm so fucking scared that I'll never hear his voice again if I hang up the phone. "Please, Roman. Please don't make me hang up."
"Calm down, baby," he says and then makes this sound in the back of his throat like I'm breaking his heart. "You don't have to hang up; just calm down for me, sweetheart." His voice sounds again, a little further away, and I know he's talking to someone else, that someone else is with him.
I take another deep breath and smell…something. Smoke.
Something's on fire.
"Roman," I whisper, my heart stalling. "I smell smoke."
"What?" he asks me, and I know he didn't hear me the first time.
Before I can answer him, the smoke alarm downstairs begins shrieking. The smell of smoke grows stronger quickly. Then a harsher odor fills the air, choking me.
"Roman," I whisper, trying not to panic as my eyes start to burn from the fumes. "I-I think they set the house on fire. I smell gasoline and smoke."
Oh God, they set the house on fire with me inside.
I can't fight back the terrified whimper that crawls up my throat.
"Motherfucker," Roman swears, and I know he's scared too. I hear it in the way his breath rasps down the line and the way his voice shakes. "We're fifteen minutes out, baby."
I don't think I have fifteen minutes, and I think he knows that too. The smell of smoke intensifies quickly. Within seconds, the smoke alarm in the hall outside the bedroom begins shrieking. I have no idea if the two men who set the house on fire are still out there, but I have to get out now, or I'm going to die in here.
"Roman," I whisper as I crawl out of my hiding spot. "I love you."
That broken sound echoes down the line again, rumbling from his lips. The painful whimper shreds my heart into tiny little pieces. He's so big, so fucking strong, and he's breaking, terrified I'm not going to make it.
I want to tell him that I think I'm pregnant, but I can't. If I don't make it out of this house alive…if they grab me…I don't want him to know that he may be losing a baby, too.
"I love you so fucking much, Mila. Run, baby. Please get out there."
I stumble toward the closet door, tears falling freely down my face.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Roman
"Jesus fucking Christ," Finn whispers beside me, his gaze locked on the house burning half a block up the street.
Fire engines and police cars line the block, parked haphazardly wherever they found space. Hoses and equipment are stretched and scattered all over the place, with firefighters in full gear scrambling to try to contain the blaze. The few neighbors who are home mill around in their driveways in groups, gawking at the sight of my townhouse burning to the ground.
I don't give a fuck about the house.
"Mila!" I roar, slamming the truck into park and throwing myself out of the driver's door with the truck still running. My feet hit the concrete hard as I race toward the house. Black smoke and flames billow out, making it hard to breathe. Even from this distance, the intensity of the heat rolling from the fire sears me.
My heart lodges in my throat, terror clawing like razorblades through me as I race down the street, weaving through the fire engines and police cruisers. Several different people shout and run after me, but I pretend not to hear them. All I can think about is her.