Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74214 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Something, anything for me to use to defend myself.
I bolted past rows of dead sunflowers, their giant heads bent over from the weight of the seeds.
I could hear the pound of feet behind me, maybe gaining on me.
I cursed my shorter legs as my hand reached for the door of the greenhouse, yanking it open.
I paused only to lock the door. Silly, maybe. But if it even gave me five seconds to search for a weapon, it was worth it.
The inside of the greenhouse was a disaster. Old dirt—so rich it was almost black—was scattered all over the floor. And thanks to an open window that let in moisture, the dirt was wet and slippery under my feet.
I skittered, found purchase, knocked a permanent marker off the table, and nearly fell into a tray of wilted seedlings.
I caught myself on a tiered metal shelf.
And I spotted something metallic just as the sound of shattering glass filled the space.
I yelped as I whipped around, watching the man move through the busted door, his shoes crunching on the glass.
He ducked down, grabbing a large shard, and made his way toward me.
There was only one exit. And he was now blocking it.
My body moved before my mind caught, up, grabbing the metal shelving unit and swinging it with everything in me.
The wall to my side crashed outward, but only beneath the metal frame brace.
I had no choice but to lower down into the glass mess I’d created, feeling the splinters bite into my hands as I started to crawl through the hole I’d made.
I was only halfway through when I felt a hand close around one ankle, then the next.
He yanked hard, sending me sailing forward, my arms flying outward.
He had already started pulling me backward before I thought to throw my arms out, using them to prevent him from fully yanking me inside.
My shoulders screamed as he pulled harder.
I wriggled and kicked until I had one free foot.
Then, with everything I had, I struck back, colliding with something hard and dragging a yowl out of the man.
But he released my other ankle, and I pulled myself out.
I wanted to scream, but I didn’t dare risk losing the chance to breathe.
Glancing back, I saw my attacker making his way back to the broken door.
I turned and ran again, not really having time to formulate a plan, working on pure adrenaline.
I zipped around the shed, taking the corner too sharply and my shoulder clipped the edge. Pain zoned up my collarbone, making tears prick my eyes.
But there was no time for tears, no time to even acknowledge my pain.
I had to make a run for the road. But being out in the open would put me at a disadvantage with my shorter legs.
I kept my back to the shed, allowing me to glance in both directions.
It was then that I felt something biting into my butt.
At first, I thought it was a piece of jagged wood or a nail.
Until I realized what it was.
My keys.
My freaking keys.
Not just to my car and my apartment.
To the damn building.
I reached for them, sliding the key to the door between bloody, shaky fingers, so I didn’t need to fumble when I made it to the shop.
I inched around the building.
When I didn’t immediately see my attacker, I freaking flew across the field.
I didn’t see or hear anything. I didn’t feel the pain I knew was in my legs, hands, and face.
I made it to the side door of the shop in what felt like ten seconds flat, jabbing the key in the lock, shoving the door open, then slamming and locking it behind me.
Yes, there were a lot of glass windows. All breakable.
But the shop had one thing the greenhouse didn’t.
A phone.
I ran behind the counter, ducking down low after I yanked the phone off the cradle.
My hands were shaking violently. and my fingers bloodied the button as I pressed it on.
I needed to call the police.
Why, then, did I hit the speed dial?
That I knew called Dante.
My insides were vibrating as I listened to the phone ring in my ear.
Once.
Twice.
I was about to hang up and do what I needed to do—call the cops—when the ring ended.
“Hello?”
“Dante?”
My voice was a raw, panicked half-sob.
“What happened?” he asked, and I swear I could hear the air rushing as he, it seemed, broke into a run.
“I… there was someone… I…”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes.” My lower lip wobbled. I sniffled hard.
“I’m on my way. We’re all on our way.”
That shouldn’t have been comforting. The mafia capo I worked for was coming. And bringing his family members with him.
A bunch of men with guns and a willingness to kill to protect what was theirs? Yeah, that was suddenly comforting.
“Hazel, babe, talk to me. Are you safe? Is there someone still there?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t want to look.”