Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 773(@200wpm)___ 618(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
She tried to turn, but he grabbed her, his arms wrapping around her.
“That isn’t as much fun, is it?” he murmured in her ear.
She attempted to fight him off, to elbow his gut, step on his foot. But he was so much bigger than she was and strong. The scent of body odor hit her and she gagged.
“Let me go. I’ll scream!”
“Doesn’t matter, Little Birdie, no one is going to help you now.”
Crap! She couldn’t reach her knife in her pocket, because he held her arms.
She let out a scream. Which was quickly smothered by one of his hands. He shoved her into the wall. The side of her face slammed against the hard concrete and a wave of dizziness rushed through her and she cried out in pain. But he’d loosened his hold on her.
Knife. Get your knife.
Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her knife out and flicked it open, stabbing back with it. She thrust as hard as she could, knowing she needed to get through clothing to skin. The first swipe didn’t hit anything and she bit down on his hand in frustration.
Gross. The taste of sweat and dirt filled her mouth.
Now isn’t the time to be squeamish.
“Fucking bitch!”
With his free hand, he slammed his fist into her tummy.
Ow! Fuck! She let go of his hand.
“Stop fighting, Little Birdie, you’re mine. If you’d stayed and played this wouldn’t be happening. But naughty birdie decided to run and now she needs to be punished.”
This asshole was fucking delusional.
Which made him even scarier.
Pulling her hand back, she attempted to stab at him again. This time, she aimed for his thigh.
A roar of pain filled the basement as he made contact. Where was everyone? Why was there no one down here? He let go of her and she didn’t waste a moment. She took off. She had to leave her bag there, but thankfully she was wearing her backpack. She raced for the door and found it had a bar across it, locking it.
She shoved the bar up, expecting him to chase after her at any moment. But there was nothing. No yells for her to stop. No hands reaching out to grab her. Turning, she shoved the door closed and ran for the front exit.
Racing out, she looked up and down the street. There weren’t many people out, it was getting dark and she didn’t really want to walk around this neighborhood in the dark.
As she ran, she moved her backpack around so she could fumble through it for her phone. Screw trying to do this on her own. Things had just taken a bad twist.
She needed help.
Now!
Pulling out her phone, she hit Gray’s contact number.
“Come on, come on.”
Why wasn’t he answering?
Tears streamed down her face. She looked back, but she couldn’t see anyone running after her.
However, she knew that didn’t mean anything. He could easily catch up with her and then she was screwed.
As she turned back, her foot hit a crack in the footpath and she fell, her phone flying from her hand as she scraped her hands and knees against the concrete.
Oh no! Her phone!
She scrambled to her feet, trying to ignore the pain. She glanced at her hands, which oozed blood.
Don’t look. You can’t look.
She and blood weren’t friends.
As she stood, the zip on her backpack broke, spilling everything. Sobs escaped her as she stared at the mess.
No time, Maeve!
She picked up her wallet and Squish. She glanced around for the pieces of her phone just as she heard something behind her. She took off with a cry, leaving it behind.
Nothing else mattered except getting away from that asshole. Protecting herself.
Run, Maeve.
Run!
19
Maeve was a mess.
She was injured and confused and she couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number.
Stupid brain, work.
Sometimes she hated being like this. Why couldn’t she remember Sampson’s number?
He’d helped her memorize it. Only, right now she was drawing a complete blank. He’d also made her write her friends phone numbers in a notebook. Only problem was that her notebook had been in her backpack. And it was long gone.
Maybe if she’d taken time to pick up the pieces of her phone, she could have saved her SIM card, but she’d been in a panic and hadn’t wanted to take the time.
She’d managed to get to the bus station and had bought a ticket. Unfortunately, she’d messed up the number of the bus she’d wanted to take. So instead of heading south-east to Nashville or east to New York, she’d gotten on a bus heading west to Portland. When she’d gotten off the bus, she’d felt so bad that she’d had to rest.
She’d rented a crappy motel room for a few nights. The person at the front desk hadn’t been worried about ID or a credit card. Luckily, she’d had enough cash on her. She’d crashed on the bed, then fallen asleep.