Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I've seen people disappear right out of thin air with witnesses standing nearby, minding their own business, trapped in their own thoughts. I've seen people watch a full kidnapping unfold and they just stand there blinking as if they can't wrap their head around the idea of what they had just seen, and then they go on about their lives. They don't report it. They don't call the police.
There's a chance of that happening tonight, that someone will be brave enough to say something. I don't want to risk it.
My eyes drift from her to the different shadows on the beach and sand dunes, and although she's not paying attention to the sounds around her, my ears home in as I assess the situation before taking that final step.
This is it, I realize, the single moment in time where I have to decide do or don't, but I already know the answer.
I know that I'm not leaving this beach tonight alone.
What I'm not certain of is what happens after.
I creep along the sand slowly, making my way toward her.
Almost everyone has a sixth sense. They get this feeling in their stomach when they're being watched. Normally, it sets a person on high alert, but when that washes over her and she turns around, facing me for the first time since we were in the surf shop together, she's got that fake smile on her face for a flash of a second.
She thinks that I'm him, the man who left her unprotected on the beach.
I feel a rush of pride when that smile fades, and it thrills me.
Before she can open her mouth to scream, I’m on her, one arm wrapped around low on her back, the other pressing the needle into her neck.
She better pray I don't plan on keeping her for long.
Chapter 4
Raya
Waking up feeling weighed down isn't new for me.
Usually when this happens, I blame the pace of the day before.
I blame the tasks I had to accomplish in a short amount of time.
I blame being tired.
I blame being unhappy.
Today is no different, only it takes longer for clarity to come back to me.
I never get enough rest, but right now is worse than I’ve ever felt. My throat is dry and scratchy as if I spent hours breathing with my mouth hanging open, but I can quickly tell it isn’t an allergy or sinus issue.
I groan, my head throbbing as I roll it on the pillow.
Is this a hangover? If it is, why would anyone ever drink a second time?
I have enough misery in my life. I would never welcome feeling this way.
I feel just off, like I'm not myself today.
But it can't be a hangover. Although I've never had one, I hardly drank last night.
I'm only allowed one glass of champagne at any particular event, and I didn't even drink the one I had in my hand last night. Jackson took it from me and set it aside on the table on our way up to the beach.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, trying to recall what could have happened to leave me waking up feeling so terrible.
I don't remember anything past the phone call Jackson took before walking away.
I try a full body assessment, starting at my feet. I can still feel sand between my toes, but that doesn't make sense.
I wouldn't have gone to bed dirty, covered in the beach. Mornings on the campaign trail are always hectic. We always have breakfast planned, and last night was no different. The Smiths were on the schedule this morning. Meeting with potential donors the morning after makes them feel important, and it also gives my parents the opportunity to either get a donation they were unable to secure the night before or attempt to increase the donation made.
Flexing my calf muscles, I test them for soreness.
When I sense someone else in the room, I open my eyes to complete darkness.
Nothing makes sense right now. There's no light filtering in from outside which is strange. It's nearly impossible for a hotel to keep all the lights out, especially lights in the city, and there are plenty of lights in South Padre. Even in my room facing the beach there were lights our first night here.
“Hello,” I say into the darkness. “What's happening?”
Maybe a storm knocked out the power.
Maybe that's the reason why it's so dark.
I can't see city lights because there are no city lights.
I try to brush my hair off my face. My heart races, a pounding beat inside of my chest when I realize my hands are tied down.
This is a dream.
It has to be a dream, right?
People don't wake up feeling hungover, tied to a bed, but as I blink into the darkness, the reality doesn't change.
I don't wake up.
This is reality.
Not a nightmare.
“Wh-What's going on?” I stammer, my throat scratchy and raw, as if I've spent hours screaming or crying.