Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Two more steps and I was flung into the back of a running van. I had to scramble out of the way as the men jumped in behind me to avoid getting crushed. The last one in pulled the door closed, and the man up front kicked the wall of the cab twice. It was a signal that they were good to go.
The van peeled out with such force, I was slung against the wall.
“Fucking marshal piece of shit,” a sneering man said, pulling his helmet off so he could better examine the bullet hole in his arm that was bleeding profusely. His face was as ugly as the wound.
I didn’t waste any time looking at that one. I set my focus on the man who’d shot Jason. He lay on the floor of the van, looking like he wanted to die, and I was plenty ready to help him along.
No one was paying much attention to me until I flew at him and slammed my fist down on his neck as hard as possible. It crushed his windpipe and drew a horrible wheezing sound from him. I readied another strike, but strong arms locked around my waist and pulled me off.
“Laurel.”
Oh, no. No!
The voice turned the blood in my veins to ice. With identical tactical gear and low-slung helmets, they all looked the same. He was the second man to clamp down on my arm in the moments before Jason had fallen.
He was the one I’d been running from, who’d destroyed my life. My stomach rolled, and an acidic taste filled my bloodied mouth.
“Get away from me!” I bucked against his hold.
“You gonna cuff her?” a tall, wiry man asked. A pair of plastic handcuffs was held up and glinted in the headlamps.
“Hold out your hands,” Frey ordered.
I shook my head, too terrified to speak.
“Say no to me,” he challenged.
When I couldn’t bring myself to do it, he spat an order to the other man to hold me. His grip was tight and unforgiving as he bound my wrists, and the sharp edges of the plastic bit into my skin. When it was done and he released me, I scurried across the ridged metal floor to the farthest corner. I drew my feet up to my body and glared at the men over the tops of my knees.
Ten minutes ago, Jason had been telling me about what-ifs, and now he was gone. Rage and pain made me stiff and tense.
“That was a motherfucking rush,” the man with a cracked helmet said. “Going to bring a shitstorm down on you, though.”
“I don’t plan on sticking around.” Frey’s piercing blue eyes focused on me. “I think you owe me an apology. You weren’t very nice the last time we were together.”
I knew I should keep quiet, but I felt like I was no longer here, no longer in my body. It made me reckless. “Did I hurt your feelings?”
His lips pulled back into an evil smile, amused. “Hardly.”
The rest of the men trapped in the back of the van eyed me with suspicion. They were probably wondering why Frey was so interested in an unremarkable girl who was shivering in pajamas and a bulletproof vest.
He pulled himself up, stooping because of the low ceiling, and stalked toward me. My breathing went ragged, but I steeled my expression. I refused to show fear as he dropped down to squat beside me, his lamp blinding.
“I really wish you hadn’t taken my laptop. You’ve made it difficult to be friends.”
“They got everything off it, the marshals,” I said, hoping my lie was convincing. “They know about your next job.”
“Bullshit.” He sat beside me and tilted his head to the side, just enough to lift the light from my eyes. When he came into focus, there was a scowl twisting his face.
“I can prove it. The email was in Russian.”
Anxiety glanced through him so quickly, I wasn’t sure if I’d seen it or imagined it. But for a single heartbeat, he’d looked uneasy.
It vanished, and his expression filled with icy indifference. “It doesn’t matter what they think they know, we can still get to Zupan. Now that we’re reunited, they’ll focus on that. We,” he said with emphasis, “can focus on that.”
My shiver had nothing to do with the cold. It made the idea that pounded in my head loud and unrelenting.
Escape.
I’d done it once before; I could do it again. Derrick had told me transport was the greatest risk—or opportunity, in my case—for escape. Could I take a gun from one of these men who seemed highly trained and much more powerful than I was?
If so, I’d have to do it now.
“If you want to be friends,” my voice was unsteady, “you should take the handcuffs off me.”
Frey’s sinister smile returned. “No, you’ll have to be friendly with them on.”