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)
You know that something’s off.
You know because of that check engine light inside of you that only you understand.
That’s what he’s talking about.
That’s how he knows she’s still out there.
Fighting.
Hoping.
Believing.
“Lift your shirt,” my boyfriend instructs while lowering himself to the medical bag we need.
I immediately do as I’m told.
“There’s my good, filthy, little fuck,” Nolan warmly acknowledges during the unzipping process. “Keep being good for me, and I’ll let you lick my lollipop later.”
Yet again, laughter creeps up in spite of the life-or-death timing. “How the fuck are you so calm right now?”
“You’re alive.” He grabs a thin package and rips it open. “I’m alive.” The dampness of the material is made colder by a random gust of wind. “I know Rabbit’s alive.” Cleaning gently and quickly continues. “And the calmer we are, the better fucking plan we can come up with.” His stare briefly shifts to mine. “What’s the problem with havin’ foggy headlights?”
“Reduced visibility.”
“And reduced visibility means?”
“Harder to see what’s ahead.”
Nolan nods while tossing aside the used material. “Exactly.”
This time, I let myself fully grin.
He’s earned at least that much.
I’ve been nothing but hell on two wheels since I fucking woke up.
But what does he expect?!
One minute I’m looking in his truck window, convinced he’s fallen asleep while waiting for us, and the next I’m the one waking up with him looking at me, convinced I’m dead.
A little stalling between gear shifting isn’t that outrageous.
Images of him being passed out in the space directly behind me are what prompt my investigating, “What happened to your zip ties?”
“I was zip tied?” One fluid motion is all it takes to rip off the back of the bandage. “When?”
“When I first got to your truck.”
There’s no hesitation to stick the covering in place.
“You were passed out with your hands zip tied between your legs.”
He cluelessly shrugs at the same time he secures the bag closed. “I don’t remember shit after he covered my face with a rag.”
“Chloroform?!” My shirt falls down as I squawk even louder. “That motherfucker chloroformed you?!” Disbelief violently races through my expression. “Who the fuck has chloroform that isn’t the villain in a fucking Mission Impossible movie?!”
Nolan struggles to swallow his snickers upon rising to his feet.
“Where the hell do you even get that shit?”
“Probably the same place he got the drugs he used to force Rabbit to take.”
Rage, which had momentarily been idling, quickly gets shifted back into gear, “I want him like Le Mans.”
“One step at a time, McQueen.” Post a firm pat to my shoulder, he inches over to the bed of his truck. “We have to find the sonofabitch first.” The medical bag gets carelessly returned to where it came from. “You remember anything else about the situation that might be useful?” By the grating sound, it’s safe to assume he’s now dragging over his toolbox. “Where he was parked? If he had a weapon? Was he alone?”
I take a second to search my brain for that information only to come up empty.
Completely.
Empty.
Is that…is that normal?
Does being electrocuted erase your memory?
Holy shit.
Did he fry my AOS?!
“I…I…I…” my head slowly shakes in bewilderment, “can’t…remember…anything…else…” Disappointment speeds around my system over and over and over again until my mind is left spinning more than it originally was. “I mean I want to…” the scrunching of my face unconsciously occurs, “obviously, I fucking want to, but…there’s…nothing…” I force the new knot of tears in my throat down to my stomach, “there. Just…seeing…you…like that…and then…waking up…to you…over me.”
Nolan uses his left hand to warmly stroke the side of my throat. “It’s okay, Kid.”
“It doesn’t feel okay.”
“It will when we bash McAdams’ brains in.” He flashes me a villainous grin and resumes reaching into the container. “Now, what do you wanna do that with? Wrench? Hammer? Bolt cutters? Extension bar?”
“Bolt cutters.” I sniffle away the unwanted emotions prior to declaring much firmer, “Definitely bolt cutters.”
The bright red tool is swiftly offered to me. “Solid choice.”
As he shifts them from his grip to mine, I inquire, “You?”
“Crowbar.”
“Classic.”
My boyfriend briefly displays the object in front of my face. “Rusty.”
“Literal insult to injury.”
An arrogant wink is the only response he delivers.
Moving away from his truck towards where my car is still parked reveals to us relieving information.
There are no additional vehicles or people.
No signs other ones have come or gone.
Even the temperature feels around the same frostbite to the balls cold it did when we were disco dancing an hour ago.
Hours ago.
Fuck…how much time has passed?
How much of a head start does this asshole really have?
“Glass,” calls out my best friend, halting me with a hard hand to my chest while using the crowbar wielding one to gesture to something else. “Blood.” Disregarding the shattered pieces of Miss X’s window is easy due to the red spots we veer away to follow. “Trail looks steady.”