Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Tears collect in the corner of my eyes as I slowly shake my head in disbelief.
No.
No…
No!
He’s not dead!
He can’t be!
This isn’t how this shit ends!
This isn’t-
A second almost inaudible whimper occurs informing me that he is alive.
Barely.
But definitely.
New rounds of determination roar throughout my system, forcing me to resume my surveying.
See where that twisted bastard is.
How much time we have to get loose.
Our seemingly deserted surroundings encourage the settling discomfort to surge once more.
Where the fuck is he?
And where the fuck is Rabbit?!
Is she okay?!
Is she alive?!
Dread mercilessly latches onto my throat, threatening to pin me in place, but the need to properly check on Kid and get to our woman – who’s pregnant with our fucking child – propels me to whip my frame around.
Search for give in my bound hands.
Feet.
Finding neither is what flies me up to a sitting position where I lift my wrists high into the air above my head before slamming my elbows down, with all the momentum I can muster, past my ribcage, splitting the gray cuffing in two.
Because that’s the thing about duct tape.
It rips pretty fucking easy.
It was designed too.
And that design is why you shouldn’t use it when you’re hoping to keep someone bound for a long period of time.
Especially unattended.
Fucking moron.
Grateful to have range of motion in my wrists is expressed by a quick roll and the swift removal of the piece on my lips.
“Fuck!” is sharply whispered prior to a shake of the head.
Why do people pay for someone to do this shit?
What’s wrong with people?
Unraveling the sticky restraint from my lower half, I do my best to ignore the pounding in my skull that’s beginning to increase, knowing that it doesn’t matter.
No.
The only thing that matters right now is freeing him and finding her.
And I know we will.
She’s out there.
Alive.
There’s no fucking way she fought that fucker this long to only fight him this long.
She’d rather die than go back.
But we ain’t about to let that happen either.
She’s gonna live.
And so’s our little guy.
And I don’t give a fuck what she says.
She’s having a boy.
Finally able to move, I scurry the short distance over to my boyfriend, rip off the tape covering his mouth, and quietly inquire, “Can you hear me, Kid?”
His lack of response is only less terrifying thanks to the shallow breathing I can feel on the hand that’s lingering near his lips.
“Come on, Kid…” a gentle stroke to his cheek is delivered. “Open your beautiful blue eyes for me.” Another loving caress precedes me choking out the command again. “Open those big blues for, Sir.”
This time there’s weak fluttering of his lashes.
“Come on,” I encourage while lowering both of my hands to work on removing the tape from his wrists. “Be my favorite, little, obedient fuck and open those eyes.”
More movement.
A single lift.
“You can do this, Kid.” Ripping at the object grows in forcefulness. “You have to do this…” Rage fuels my actions and strengthens my tone. “You have to wake up.” Light sounds of the material successfully tearing revs the engine of hope all over again. “We have to save Rabbit.” The instant his hands are free, I let one of mine cup his scruff covered face. “I need you.” One light stroke doesn’t take long to become two. “I can’t live without you.”
Unlike in all of the stupid chick flicks we’ve seen over the years, his eyes don’t magically open.
Life isn’t instantly restored.
Instead, the howling wind screeches at a new octave as if laughing at me.
Mocking me.
My desperation.
Tears hastily rush to the brims of my lids and along the back of my throat causing my jaw to tremble in refusal to let them fall. Between the weight of disappointment and despondency, my head drops forward, unable to stay upright, unable to bear another ounce of dejection.
Air abandoning my lungs, grants permission for the tears in my eyes to begin their descent; however, mere seconds after they hit The Kid’s chest, the lightest tap to my arm is felt. “You don’t have to, Sir.”
Chapter 3
Kipp
“You’re not allowed to die before me,” grunts my boyfriend, relief and worry simultaneously burning rubber in his expression. “Understood?”
I try to smile, but it hurts.
Fuckme, everything hurts.
My head.
Jaw.
Neck.
An attempt to lift myself up unleashes new waves of pain in my upper chest.
Side.
Hip.
What the fuck did he do to me?
Thump me like he was checking his goddamn tires?
Becoming overwhelmed by the increasing aches leads to me closing my eyes once more, yet the slight sting of Nolan’s cold palm slapping my cheek convinces them to stay open.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Kid.” Another pop to the area is delivered. “You wake the fuck up and stay the fuck up.”
He’s right.
I need to wake up.
Stay up.
Get up.
Get moving.
Get to our girl.
“Bunny,” slips free in a crackled croak at the same time I lean into his assistance. “Where?”