Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"Can I turn some music on?" she asks.
I nod, a little surprised when she settles on older rock music I grew up listening to.
"This isn't what you listen to," I say. "Put on something you like."
"It's what you listen to, and I like it just fine," she says, but her cheeks color and she looks away. "My generation doesn't listen to just one type of music."
"Oh, really?"
"We're known for having eclectic tastes."
"Eclectic tastes my ass." I snort, remembering the kind of music her boyfriend used to listen to when he took her out on dates. My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter at the very thought of him.
But I like the music she plays, and it preoccupies me for a little while.
"I always wanted to go to Raleigh," she says wistfully, when we pass he Welcome to Raleigh road sign.
"Why? What's in Raleigh?"
"Oh, the Sunflower Fields," she says. "The Warehouse District and all the little shops there. The Amphitheater and shopping on Fayetteville Street. It sounds amazing."
"It sounds boring as fuck. Sunflowers and little shops? What do they do at the amphitheater?"
"Plays," she says, rolling her eyes at me.
"I'm only interested in amphitheaters if they're holding gladiator matches."
"That's barbaric!"
"I'd choose barbaric over boring."
She huffs out a breath. "You would."
She has no idea.
And then a second thought hits me so hard, I nearly crash into a guard rail.
Today, she's an adult.
Eighteen years old. Legal. Still fucking off-limits, but she isn't a child anymore.
It's stupid to think that one day advances someone into real adulthood. She has years and years to form her adulthood, to learn who she is and what she wants, to solidify her values and relationships.
If I have anything to do with it, she'll do just that.
She's fucking legal.
My throat tightens with the thought. With the temptation that now sits beside me.
It was hard enough not to touch her when I knew she was off limits.
Now that she isn't...
"I'm assuming we're not stopping again anytime soon?" she asks.
"We'll stop eventually, but not for a while."
She freezes suddenly, her hands tightening on her knees, and when she speaks her voice is strained.
"Nicolai?"
"Mmm?"
"That truck... the one with the frozen food delivery?"
"Yes?"
"The driver… I know him.”
I grip the wheel tighter. "How?”
I glance in the rearview mirror, but the solar glare makes it impossible to see the driver.
"I can't see from where I am. What does he look like?"
"I don't know..." Her voice trails off. "It's weird, but I swear I've seen him over at Eric's house. That isn't possible, is it?"
Could Laina have gotten the facts wrong? She said she overheard Myron, but what if... what if it was Eric who was responsible for her planned abduction? What if he was working directly with Myron?
"It is possible," I tell her. "Not very probable, but still something we can't ignore. Though why anyone would chase us in a semi that big..." I shake my head. Maybe it's part of his cover. "Alright, Marissa. Hold on tight. We're getting off the highway."
I flick on my turn signal seconds before I careen off the exit at a breakneck speed and son of a bitch the truck is coming after us. I can see him making a hard turn in my rearview mirror. I curse under my breath and accelerate under a bridge.
"Oh, God," Marissa moans. "Oh God oh God oh God!"
"Make sure your seatbelt is fastened."
I drive sixty miles an hour onto an off ramp, then take a left so hard the tires squeal on the pavement. I turn down an underpass until the road lies in front of me, and look in the rearview mirror as the truck is stopped between two other semis. He's an idiot, though, because he doesn't slow down at all. Instead, he plows after us so hard and fast, he knocks into three smaller trucks on either side of him, glass shattering and metal rends into pieces, smoke billows in the sky. Horns beep and soon, sirens sound in the distance.
Fuck.
I duck through another tunnel and hit the gas, driving as fast as I can away from here before we get caught. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I don't realize I'm driving nearly a hundred miles an hour until I notice Marissa bracing herself and whimpering.
"Nicolai," she whispers.
The truck fades into the background. I still can't see the driver. I'm breathing heavily, but she's the one I'm concerned with. I reach my hand to her knee and squeeze gently. "You're alright," I tell her. "You're safe." I don't tell her that I'm packing a handgun in the waistband of my pants, and the glove compartment is jammed with similar weapons.
"Take my phone," I tell her. "Look up that truck online. See if you see anything out of the ordinary."
She obeys, opens up the phone, and types something into the search bar. A few minutes later, she gasps.