Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
The man in front of me chokes on the mixture yet forces himself to look my direction.
“Tell me why you’re followin’ me.” His reluctance to answer has me firing two more rounds into his eyes. A new wave of unholy screams escapes but speaking over them isn’t that difficult. “Hesitate again, and I’ll turn this shit from light rain to downpour. Copy that?”
This time he speedily nods.
“Good. Now, tell me why you’re followin’ me.”
“Not you.”
My head tilts to the side in aggravation. “Lie to me, and I’ll drown you in the sink.”
“It’s n-n-n-not a lie!” He immediately croaks. “I’m not following you. Well, okay, I am following you, but you’re not who I’m supposed to be following! You’re just supposed to be leading me to the person I am supposed to find.”
Swallowing the swelling lump in my throat isn’t easy, “Arley.”
“Idontknowhername,” the terrified individual announces in one breath. “I just…I just have her picture!”
“Where?”
“On my phone.”
The eyeroll he’s given is mindless. “Where is your phone, young buck?”
“In my…” he wiggles around to make an offering, “my back pocket.”
I reach for it; however, rather than just letting me have it, the kid catches me off guard. He throws his head towards mine, intending to execute a headbutt, yet fails.
Epically.
Dodging his motion is followed by grabbing a fist full of his dark brown locks and using it to smash his head into the wall behind him. Blow by blow, pieces of the cheap tile are chipped off the surface and replaced by bright red spots. Howls of agony are recurringly expelled, only to be cut short by another bash. Familiar shades of bright crimson cascade along the crevices towards the floor and due to my medical knowledge – and real-world experience – it’s safe to conclude the stalker can barely withstand any more force let alone the velocity at which it would be delivered.
When it’s obvious disorientation kicks in, I safely remove the device and light up the screen. His fingerprint protected entry is easy enough to bypass considering his current status. I prepare to place his thumb on the phone but pause to inform, “Come at me again, kid, and I’ll kill you.”
A whimper is all he can manage to muster up.
Granting myself access allows me to expeditiously search through his downloaded photos and as luck would have it, I don’t have to scroll far. The picture is recent – like it should be – yet how recent is where the fucking problem is.
We’re talking about getting into my truck, leaving the hospital yesterday, level of too recent.
It’s a security camera shot versus something more personal, but still.
This is exactly why tactics for losing a tail were a must before we headed home.
And why leaving her there this morning wasn’t up for debate.
Someone is after her.
Someone is fucking after her and apparently has no intention of giving up until they have her.
Or silence her.
Either way, that shits not happening.
Not while I’m alive and breathing.
“I’m gonna take this toy with me,” my fingers dangle the device in front of his hooded gaze, “but I’m gonna leave you in timeout.”
After rising to my feet, I tuck the device in my own back pocket, lean over to the toilet paper roll, and begin unraveling it. I wait until the rough material has safely draped onto the floor before clamping the hostage’s jaw tight to force it open. He twitches a bit at first; however, the second the object grazes his lips, he starts squirming like the little worm on a hook that he is. Using two fingers, I steadily shove the substance towards the back of his throat, smiling wider and wider each time he gags. Sure, keeping him quiet and unfound until I’m ready is the initial goal but that doesn’t mean I can’t take pleasure in what I’m doing.
In watching horror flood his gaze the way I imagine it would Arley’s if he had found her.
In seeing tears drip down the angle of his rigid jaw the way my woman’s did last night.
Her tears?
They break my fucking heart.
His?
They seal the cracks in it.
Knowing she’s protected…knowing I’m doing everything possible to ensure that? Well, that’s the adhesive holding the shattered shit together.
Drool dribbles past the edges of his mouth to join his tears and seeing some of it become absorbed by the TP is what convinces me to keep stuffing until the wad is so wide it dislocates his jaw. At that point, I stand completely back up and retrieve the waiting “out of order” sign I pilfered earlier. Crossing over to the door, I momentarily push my ear against it to listen for foot traffic. Once I’m certain it’s clear, I exit, clicking the door locked behind me, and inconspicuously drape the sign on the knob.
My sauntering out of the area while texting Blu that we need a cleanup crew raises no suspicions and rather than collecting my original, abandoned cart, I walk right past it, still typing. Still pretending I just made a short pit stop to the bathroom before grabbing a couple items on my way home. Retrieving a small handheld basket from the nearby corner area further indicates to anyone else who may be watching that I intend for this to be the quick trip I originally planned for it to be.