Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
He looked at her blankly.
Lorrie coughed. “That wasn’t Steve. He’s a good guy, Amka. He didn’t try to hurt you.”
A good guy? Amka’s stomach lurched. If she screamed, Christian would come running, but Steve would just shoot him. Or her. Or both of them. What should she do? She gulped, trying to keep him talking. Christian would come looking for her soon and hopefully hear them. “So you killed your friend out in the forest and gouged out his eyes?”
Steve winced. “Yeah. It was totally gross, to be honest. But once I was here, I heard about those other deaths, and I figured why not? Everyone would think he was just another victim.” His face fell. “But now you know everything, and I’m sorry, that can’t happen.”
Amka looked at Lorrie. “Why didn’t you just get a divorce?”
Lorrie looked down at her hands. “Eli had money. It was his before we got married, so it’d be his if we got divorced. Our community property isn’t much. So now his money is ours. We plan to do really good stuff with it. I promise.”
“Don’t give me that innocent act,” Amka spat. “You’re a stone-cold bitch, Lorrie. A killer.”
The woman paled.
“Actually, I’m the killer,” Steve hissed. “You’re about to know that. If you scream, I’ll shoot you and everyone who even thinks of coming through that door.” He gestured with the gun toward the window. “Go to the window and open it. Quietly. No screaming. No sudden moves. We’re getting out of here, and you’re going first.”
She shook her head. “I’m giving you one warning. You do not want to do this. Christian will find you, and he’ll destroy you.”
Steve just stepped closer, gun steady. “You’re going out that window.”
She turned toward it. Her body was shaking. Not visibly, but she felt it. Deep in her legs, in her spine. If she let Steve get her outside, he’d kill her. No question. Her hand touched the sill.
Steve moved behind her, close. Too close.
She took a breath. There was only one way out of this. Then she turned, fast and low, and drove her shoulder into his gut.
He grunted, staggered back, the gun jerking upward as she grabbed for his wrist. She locked both hands on Steve’s arm, trying to wrestle the weapon free. He shoved her hard. They went down together, tangled, his knee hitting her side.
The gun scraped across the floor.
She went for it.
He grabbed her ankle.
She kicked, connected with something soft, and crawled for the gun, trying to scream but her voice went hoarse out of panic. Her breath burst out of her.
His hand caught her shirt and yanked her back. Her nails scraped the tile. She twisted, elbowing him hard in the ribs. He swore. They rolled, her back hitting the wall, his weight pressing down.
She reached up, found his face, and raked her nails down his cheek. He hissed and shoved her head to the side, fingers digging into her jaw. Her hand shot out, found the base of the IV stand. She gripped it and swung, tears clogging her eyes, panic heating her breath.
It connected.
He fell sideways, stunned for a second, just enough for her to scramble free. They both reached for the gun, hands connecting, scrambling.
The weapon fired.
The sound was deafening. She felt the pressure in her ears before the pain hit. The window cracked. Lorrie screamed.
Steve wrenched the gun free, backed up on his knees, and aimed it at Amka’s head.
Christian stared at his brother. “You’re not divorced?”
“No,” Damian said.
A gun discharged down the hallway.
Christian’s blood iced.
Then it surged.
“Amka,” he breathed. He ran, a panic taking over. One he didn’t recognize and hadn’t felt before. His boots slammed against the tile, and he hit the hallway corner hard, the sound of a woman screaming curling inside his ears. High. Panicked. Lorrie?
Going on instinct, he followed the sound and kicked open the door to the third and last room in the small hospital. He saw Steve first, kneeling, pointing a gun at Amka, breath heaving like he’d just run ten miles. Blood along his face. Eyes wild.
Then Amka.
She was on her back against the far wall. Her shirt was torn at the shoulder, her lip split, and her chest rose fast and shallow. But she was breathing, her eyes wide.
That was all Christian needed to see.
He hit Steve full force, shoulder down, fists already moving. The two of them crashed against the wall, the gun skidding across the floor. Christian drove a punch into Steve’s ribs, then another, higher, into the neck.
Steve tried to fight back. He got one hit in—glancing, sloppy. Christian didn’t care. He was inside his own head now, where it was quiet and efficient. Where every movement had a goal.
Take him down.
He slammed Steve to the ground and drove his knee into the man's chest, pinning him.