Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 466(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
John nodded eagerly. “I’m going to the door with the pizzas. They’ll either lie and take them or say they didn’t order them. I’ll step back, and you’ll come behind me. I’ll disappear.”
“Yes. Do not stick around.”
A voice beside him spoke. “I’ll slip into the SUV, and when you call me, I’ll back it up into the driveway. You’ll come out with the package, and we leave.”
“Yes. Anything happens and you don’t get my signal, you get the fuck out. Understand?”
“Yes.”
I turned to Aldo. “Thanks for coming with me.”
He nodded. “I always have your back. Even when you’re starting a war.”
“They won’t know. The witnesses will be dead.”
“Let’s hope they’re the only ones who know.”
He was right, but I had to do this. I had no choice.
The old car pulled up into the driveway, and John got out, carrying two pizza boxes. “Let’s go.”
We followed closely, hiding to the side. John rang the bell, and a voice inside yelled out, “Who is it?”
“Pizza delivery,” he sang out cheerfully.
There was a brief conversation inside. “We didn’t order pizza.”
“What? Is this 188 Warrington?”
“Yes. We didn’t order it.”
“Dammit, that’s the second one this week. Look, do you want it? I have to throw it away, so if you want it, it’s yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“If someone’s ordered and not given the right address, we have to chuck the pizza.”
“Leave it on the step.”
“Sure. No problem.” He waited.
“What now?” the voice yelled.
“Don’t I get a tip? You’re getting free pizza. All I’m gonna get is a cuff upside the head for no delivery and then have to go back out to the right address. Bastards.”
Even though this was a serious situation, I bit my lip at his whine. He was doing a convincing job.
“Fine.” The door opened a crack, and a bill was shoved out.
“Thanks!” John jogged past me, grinning, a ten held in his hand. He hopped into the car and pulled out of the driveway. I snuck up the steps, waiting, Aldo right behind me.
A moment later, the door opened again, and a pair of hands appeared to grab the pizza. I pressed my gun into the head bent over the boxes. “Slowly now,” I advised. “Unless you want your brain matter all over the front steps.”
He cursed, backing in. I followed, my gun still against his head. Aldo trailed me, his gun pointing at the other man in the room. I pushed at the one I had. “Stand. Slowly, with your hands where I can see them.”
He did so, backing away. The two men were shocked. Both were ruffians, dirty and unkempt. One had claw marks on his face and a bruise on his cheek. “What do you want?”
“Nice try, boys. Where is she?”
They were silent. I cocked my gun. “I’ll ask again. Nicely. Next time, you’ll be eating my bullet. Where is my fiancée?”
Their eyes widened when I confirmed I was who they thought I was. The one with the clawed face pointed to the left, and I glanced at Aldo. “Watch them.”
I found the door, locating the light switch, and went down the stairs cautiously. The basement was damp and cold. Musty. Dirty from years of neglect.
It took me a moment to locate her. She was in a corner, a small bundle of misery on the floor. Chained there, like an animal. I knelt beside her, rolling her over, narrowing my eyes at the sight of her injuries. Her face was bruised and torn. Her neck showed signs of fingerprint-shaped bruises developing on it. Her lip was cut. She was ice-cold and unconscious, but she was breathing. I pulled off my coat, wrapping her in it. I left her for a moment, rushing up the stairs.
“Whoever has the fucking key, give it to me before I count to five.” I held out my hand. It took to three for the key to be dropped into my palm. I shot the asshole in the knee for taking so long and, ignoring his scream, raced back downstairs, unlocking the chain and gathering Effie into my arms. She roused a little, gasping and moaning. “Stay still,” I murmured. “You’re safe now.”
Upstairs, the men watched me as I set her on the sofa. It was disgusting but at least warmer than the fucking basement floor.
“Two million each and this is how you treat her?” I asked, my voice quiet and deadly calm.
“She fought us,” the one with the claw marks said. “She fell. It was her fault.”
I crouched in front of him. “She do that to your face?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Fought like a little tiger, did she?” I said, lowering my voice, sounding as if I were sharing a secret. “The little ones, they always fight, am I right?”
A sick grin split his face. “Yeah. They do. I like it.”
My bullet froze his face with that grin on it. A perfect hole in the center of his head that gave me a great deal of satisfaction.