Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167204 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 836(@200wpm)___ 669(@250wpm)___ 557(@300wpm)
His mustache twitches again. “They’re not. This particular car was heavily reinforced many years ago to ensure the safety of those traveling in it. There are smaller and sleeker models that do the same job now, and I keep telling my employer we should upgrade, but, well… he likes what he likes, and he does what he wants.”
I press my lips into a grim little line. “Yep. I know the type.”
Hugh flashes me a mild smile, then, finally, he closes the heavy-ass door.
Chapter Twenty-four
Brynn
Stacie isn’t happy about me staying here tonight, but when I pointed out that I would need time to pack anyway—and I have already paid my half of this month’s rent—she begrudgingly let me in the front door.
I’m disappointed to find it doesn’t feel like home anymore.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
My feline best friend is holed up with some depraved sociopath across town and I’m stuck here with a tower of boxes and a roommate who can’t stand me.
So cozy.
Since I have class tomorrow, I should also really be studying, and I find myself hating the choices that led me here despite firmly believing they were the right ones.
I spend what feels like a million hours packing up my things, and it’s impossible to keep my mind from wandering to the Rho Kappa house fire. I know it’s just stuff and stuff can be replaced, but some things can’t. What if they had mementos of their families in their bedrooms? Something passed down from a loved one.
Killian burned it all up without a second thought.
I would be crushed if that happened to me. Especially because I’ve already experienced losing virtually everything I own once. I spent 18 years collecting things I liked and wanted, things that meant something to me and useless baubles alike, and then, just like now, I had a couple of hours to pack it all up.
I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think about anything, so I grab my phone to turn on some music.
It feels like an evermore kind of night, so I tap that playlist. The opening guitar chords draw me in, and as soon as she starts singing, I sing along.
But singing just reminds me of Killian’s stupid sweet nickname for me.
Songbird.
I liked being Killian’s songbird. I wanted to be.
And now… now I don’t know what I want. And I don’t know if it even matters.
He seems to know what he wants, and apparently, what he says goes.
Wreck my plans, indeed.
___
I’ve had a lot of lonely nights in my lifetime, but tonight feels like the loneliest. Maybe I’m being dramatic. Maybe it’s only because this is the most recent, and I’ve put all the others out of my mind so I could move forward without all of that weighing me down.
It takes forever even though my body is exhausted, but I finally fall asleep.
But I wake up abruptly, swatting at my arm on instinct.
I think a bug bit me.
I cannot stand bugs, so I reach for my blanket to throw it back so I can jump out of bed and make sure there aren’t any creepy crawlies in bed with me, but the strangest things happens.
My arm just… falls.
I try to pick it up, and my eyes widen in horror when I can’t move it.
I can’t move my arm at all.
I’m confused at first, my brain foggy from being asleep. I’ve slept weird and had a hand or arm fall asleep on me before, but this doesn’t feel like that. There’s not even the faintest sensation of pins and needles, I just… I can’t feel anything.
Then my gaze jumps to movement in the shadows.
I can feel my heart pounding—I can hear it, too—but the scariest thing is that it feels like I can’t breathe.
I count three men emerging from the shadows in my bedroom. One of them grabs my hands and lifts me up to a sitting position, his hollow eyes meeting mine and calmly registering my panic.
Hollow because he’s wearing a mask. All of them are.
“Hurry up,” he tells one of his friends.
I feel the panic rising because I can’t draw a breath, and I try to jerk away instinctively when something is placed over my head, but of course, I’m immobile. The desire to move registers, but my body doesn’t listen to me.
Then a clear dome is fitted over my face, a strap wrapped around my head, and just like that, I can breathe again.
I would collapse with relief, but… well, I have no control over anything my body does.
“She breathing?” asks a guy behind me.
“She’s good,” says the calm one who honestly, could not seem to care less.
“Good. I think he’d be pissed if we killed her,” he says, but manages to sound amused more than anything.
“I knew how much time you had,” the first guy says as he stands. “We only have a few minutes though, so blindfold her and let’s get the hell out of here.”