Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
She was clever.
At least, I thought she was.
When I started hearing whispers of people wanting what her father owed them, I increased the surveillance and gave up on discretion. It was a luxury she couldn't afford any longer. The shadows that hunted her were darker and more dangerous than she could possibly imagine.
Which made this party even more treacherous.
Another look around and I couldn't understand why she would even want to be here.
She wasn't some silly little party girl.
She was a survivor, a scholar, and from what I understood, smart enough to fly under the radar. If I had thought she would burn through her college days in a drunken haze, I would have never let her attend.
The naiveté displayed tonight was beneath her. It was disappointing. It was...terrifying.
When I marched into the house, several people stopped and stared at me, their faces draining of color as they registered my presence. But the party lights kept flashing, my temples throbbing from the kaleidoscope of colors. And as more people stopped talking to stare, the music only seemed to get louder, pounding against my skull.
I took out a Glock, the metal gleaming under the chaotic lights, and shot out the sound system.
Immediately the room became silent, the sudden absence of noise almost more shocking than the gunshot.
That was probably a little heavy-handed, but it was effective.
The scent of fear permeated the air, mixing with the alcohol and sweat.
"Where is she?" I barked.
No one answered. The room was so quiet I could hear the rapid, terrified breathing of those closest to me.
"I will not ask again," I said, bringing the gun up with an ominous motion that sent visible tremors through the crowd.
"Who?" A blonde girl with glazed blue eyes, her shirt pulled down so her bubblegum-pink bra was showing, pushed forward. "I bet I can be so much better for you, Daddy."
She wobbled toward me, tripping over her own heels. When she reached out for me, her fingers grasping at empty air, I took a step back and watched as she fell flat on her face. I didn't have time for this shit. Her desperation clung to her like cheap perfume.
"Oh my god, that was so mean," she whined, her cries muffled by the carpet her face was planted in.
The constant flashing lights and the disgusting smell of cheap beer, vomit, and skunk weed was giving me a headache, each pulse of light like a needle in my brain.
Raising my gun, all the students around me ducked, some throwing themselves to the floor as I shot out the strobe lights, plunging the room into darkness, the acrid smell of gunpowder adding to the nauseating cocktail of scents.
A girl somewhere screamed, the sound high and piercing, and someone turned on the actual lights. That was better.
Now I had everyone's attention, and I could see their bloodshot or glazed eyes staring at me. Some trembled, others were frozen in place, as if stillness might render them invisible.
"Oh my god, call the cops," a girl shrieked, breaking the silence, then like a dam breaking everyone started talking at once.
A mix of "Hey man, who do you need help finding?" and "Wait until I tell my father about this," came from men and women, some cowering, others attempting defiance. A couple of them were positioning themselves like prostitutes in the red-light district, batting eyelashes and pushing out chests despite the terror etched on their faces.
I shot another round, this time into the wall over a door.
The sound reverberated through the room, followed by screams and whimpers.
I needed to make a point, not the front page of the paper for shooting some drunk college kid losing his virginity upstairs.
With an impossibly tight grip on my rage, my knuckles white around the gun handle, I pointed my weapon at the bastard who thought his father could do a damn thing. His face went paper-white, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Viktoria, where is she?" Each word was ice, dripping with menace.
"Of course he is after the Russian hooker," some guy said, and a few of the others broke out into fits of nervous giggles.
One deadly look their way, my eyes promising violence that would haunt their nightmares, and they shut their mouths and stared at the floor, shoulders hunched as if trying to disappear.
A girl who looked vaguely familiar cleared her throat, her hands shaking as she raised one to get my attention.
Blonde hair, pink top, drunk but not sloppy. I had seen her picture before.
My security provided it along with a dossier on her and her family, because she was Viktoria's friend.
Her name was Samantha, Sarah, something like that. Her family was in politics, but clean-ish. They had taken a few bribes, but not for anything noteworthy.
In fact, I only allowed Viktoria to stay in the dorms because she was going to be with this girl.