Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45943 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 230(@200wpm)___ 184(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
And then they dragged me into the middle of the restaurant and roughly shoved me into the seat, working quickly and efficiently, securing me to the chair and then gagging me.
As I sat there, it quickly became clear that these men were the same that have been following me, wearing the same all black getup, only their eyes showing, staring coldly like they’d do anything at the command of their leader.
“Old friend?” Jamie snarls now, standing up straight and unafraid even as Tyron Kirkenwell pulls the gun from his pocket and starts to casually toss it from hand to hand.
Jamie, my protector, my savior, the future father of my children.
He stands there like these men don’t have knives and a gun, like his one time MMA rival doesn’t have the power to pull a trigger and end our story before we’ve had a chance to fully explore all the different shades of our love.
Love, love, love.
I sing the words in my mind, the imminence of my death making the idea of holding back seem silly and suddenly juvenile.
So what if it happened fast?
So what if he’s my best friend’s dad?
So what if life is complicated?
I can’t die without telling him how I feel, even if it makes him run, even if it threatens to ruin everything.
“You always were a sore loser, Tyron,” Jamie snarls, subtly stalking forward, taking small steps, his shoes crinkling softly against the fallen glass.
Beyond the shattered windows, people shout and car horns honk and a thousand other sounds explode, but it all seems impossibly far away, as though it has nothing to do with this and can’t in any way interfere with us.
Tyron runs a hand through his greasy hair, falling down in seaweed like strands around his cheeks. With his other hand, he casually aims the gun in Jamie’s general direction.
“A sore loser?” he snarls. “You know I was supposed to win that fight. Do you have any idea what happened when you went back on our deal?”
Jamie laughs grimly.
“There never was a deal, Tyron,” he snaps. “Your people came to me and offered me money to throw the fight. I just stared at them. That’s it. I stared and didn’t say a word. They took my silence as assent. They were wrong. I’d never throw a fight. I’d never purposefully lose anything. That’s not how I’m wired.”
Inch by inch, he slowly stalks forward, moving with such fluidity that Tyron doesn’t seem to notice. The men around me do, though, starting to clasp their knives hard, puffing themselves up as though any second they’re going to leap at Jamie and cut him into a thousand bloody pieces.
I want to scream at him to get away, but of course, I can’t, the gag seeming to swell in my mouth and make just breathing difficult, let alone making any noise.
“How fucking honorable,” Tyron snaps. “They took their pound of flesh out of me, Jamie, old buddy. They carved up my body and left me hanging and bleeding for days. They knew that getting to you was impossible. Attacking the heavyweight champion of the world? Nah, they couldn’t do that, could they? And especially not after you started Alignment and never went anywhere without a security detail. So they took out their rage on me. Then they exiled me, told me if I ever returned, they’d kill me and my entire family.”
Inch by inch, Jamie moves forward, his eyes laser-focused on Tyron, his entire being hard and aimed toward this moment.
Perhaps absurdly considering what’s at stake right now, my writer’s mind drags him away from this hellish restaurant and into another scene.
I see him walking toward our child’s crib, just as focused as he is now, except the concentration takes on a different quality, one of absolute love and devotion.
I want to help, but the duct tape cuts sharply into my wrists and ankles, making it impossible to move.
“But I have my chance at redemption,” he says. “Get my hands on Jamie Jensen, use you for ransom. I tried stalking you and that spunky little daughter of yours, but no dice, Jamie. You were both too protected. So instead I targeted this one. I wanted to be a little more elegant about it – taking her when she wasn’t in public – but she’s a bit of a homebody, you see. She rarely goes down convenient dark alleyways or grimy subways.”
Jamie says nothing, just inches forward.
Tyron’s words are slightly slurred and quiet, as though he’s under the effects of some sort of drug.
Jamie starts to nod, as if listening intently, lulling him into some sort of a comfortable state.
“But now it’s sink or swim time, so here I am. You need to stop moving toward me, Jamie. You need to stay right where you fucking are.”
Jamie pauses, eyes flitting over Tyron and then the men.