Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
For a moment, I stand frozen. My entire body hums with relief that she’s alive. That she’s here. That she hasn’t been killed … yet. God, when I get my hands on Sheldon. He is going to wish he had never even heard my name. And if he has hurt her? I will tear him apart with my bare hands.
I pocket my cellphone and move towards the back door, stepping lightly so my boots don’t crunch on the gravel. I slip inside the open door and duck behind an old shelving unit while I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness in here compared to the bright light outside. The warehouse smells of dust and rust. Dim light filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows across the empty space.
I blink, and my vision clears. And I see her. My Jo. I swallow back the rush of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me and force myself to think coldly as if it is a difficult business deal. I analyze the situation. Jo is strapped into a wheelchair. Her wrists are bound to the armrests, and her ankles are bound to the footrests. There’s another strap across her chest that goes around the back of the wheelchair. It doesn’t look like the restraints are anything that I won’t be able to undo. Jo’s hair is messy, and there is a thin line of dried blood at her temple. Other than that, with only a visual check, she looks ok, but even that hurt is enough to make my blood boil.
I don’t see any sign of Sheldon, and I decide now is a good time to go and free Jo. I stand up from behind the shelving unit and move towards her. Her head whips around when she hears my footsteps, and her eyes widen the instant that she sees it is me. Relief floods her expression so quickly it almost brings me to my knees.
“Axel,” she whispers when I reach her.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur. My hands move instinctively to the restraints. I undo the strap across her torso first, then the cuffs on her wrists. Her skin is red where the bindings have dug in.
“Are you hurt?” I ask quietly, crouching to meet her eyes.
She shakes her head, trembling. “Just … just a cut. I’m ok. Hurry. He could come anytime now.”
I crouch lower to free her ankles. Her hands fly to mine once she is loose. I keep my gaze on her, trying to transmit calm, trying to steady the shaking I feel in my own body as I pull her to her feet and embrace her.
“You’re safe now. I’ve got you,” I whisper.
Her breath hitches. Relief, fear, and exhaustion all mixed together. I brush a strand of hair from her face and feel a spike of anger rise. Sheldon is going to pay for this.
For now, though, I can’t let anger consume me. All I can do is focus on her, on keeping her safe.
“Let’s go,” I say, but before we can make a move, a voice from behind me makes my blood freeze.
“Well, well.”
I spin around. Sheldon stands in the shadows, a gun raised and pointed towards us. His eyes are wild, and there is a smirk on his face that makes my stomach drop. In short, he looks crazy.
The warehouse seems impossibly quiet now, silent except for the thrum of my heartbeat hammering in my ears. All I can think about is if I hadn’t hesitated to let my eyes adjust to the dark, if I hadn’t paused to hug Jo, she could be out of here now, safe. I know it’s not true – Sheldon was obviously watching and waiting for his moment. I have to stop tormenting myself. I have to focus.
I press my back against the warehouse wall behind me, Jo clinging to my jacket, trembling like she’s about to collapse. Every muscle in my body screams to act, to grab her, to run, to throw myself at Sheldon, and end this before it can even start. But I know better.
He has a gun. And he looks crazy enough to pull that trigger.
The second he steps into sight, I see he isn’t just a madman with a gun. He’s mad, but he’s also bizarrely calm. So collected it’s scary. Every step, every word, measured. Cold. And that’s worse than rage, worse than panic. Because cold means logical, and logical means he’s in control and judging by the hate in his eyes, capable of anything. I keep my hands where he can see them, my movement slow, controlled. Nothing that might make him jerk the trigger.
“What the hell are you doing, Sheldon?” I demand, keeping my voice firm. Sometimes that works. “What is this? Why her? Why this? Have you lost your damned mind?”