Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75478 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
I could see my attacker, standing several feet away, still somewhat in shadow. Not that it would matter even if I could see him fully. He was not only decked out in black but wearing a ski mask and gloves.
That was… good, right?
Mask and gloves meant he didn’t want to be seen. If I saw his face, that was the scary part. Because he didn’t care if I could identify him. Because he was probably going to kill me.
A disguise, I forced myself to think, was a positive thing.
I was sitting on a chair but was shocked to remember that I’d been able to lift my hands.
I wasn’t cuffed or chained or anything.
But he said I didn’t want to move around.
Why wouldn’t…
But then I looked down.
“Oh, God,” I gasped.
Gone was my big, chunky, handmade cardigan.
In its place was a vest of some sort.
But not just any vest.
Oh, no.
A vest covered in… explosives?
Right?
That’s what it had to be. There were little blocks all connected with yellow wires.
I’d seen enough movies to know an explosive vest when I saw one.
When I was wearing one.
“No. No no no no no,” I whimpered, my hands automatically going toward the bottom of the vest, wanting to rip it off, to toss it away, to run for my life.
“That’s not very smart,” the voice called. “I’d really hate to blow you up before you deliver my message.”
“What… message?” I asked, feeling like someone was closing their hands around my throat, squeezing.
“Spoilers,” he said, dragging the s out.
“What do you want with me? I’m… nobody,” I said, sniffling hard, trying to rationalize with the tears flooding my eyes.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Bonnie Lou Clewski,” the man said, making my stomach slosh around.
How did he know who I was?
“What do you want?”
“For you to deliver a message,” he said, moving closer.
Close enough for me to see that there was something in his gloved hand. Something he was pressing his finger firmly against.
Was that a trigger?
It had to be.
The kind where, if his finger moved, the bomb went off.
So I couldn’t try to rush him, attack him, run away. All he would need to do was lift his thumb, and the bomb would go off.
I would… blow up.
I hated the whimper that escaped me, but there was no stopping it.
How was this real life?
Who got a bomb strapped to their chest? Outside of war zones or spy movies?
“Who do I need to send a message to?” I asked, my voice a little squeak.
“Sully.”
CHAPTER THREE
Sully
“Get out,” Fallon snapped, pushing Nave through the door when he hesitated. “We’ll call the bomb squad,” he said, turning back to me, Callow, and the girl who looked like she was about to pass out.
She was a fucking pretty little thing. Small and slight with white-blonde hair, gray eyes, delicate features, and plump lips.
Not that this was the time to focus on that kind of thing.
“There’s no time,” I said, my gaze landing on the red numbers counting down at the center of the woman’s chest.
It was a cheap timer, something a step up from using a watch.
Three minutes.
It would take NBPD at least half an hour to get a bomb squad all the way out here.
“Can you get it off of her?” Fallon asked.
“Heya, honey, just try to take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay?” I asked, hands moving to the sides of the vest. “No,” I told Fallon.
The bastard had not only sewn her into the vest but had wound the wires through the stitching. If I cut the vest, I’d cut the wires.
“Can you… diffuse it?” Fallon asked, a hint of panic in his voice.
“Yep. Yeah. Absolutely,” I added, trying to keep my own voice calm for the sake of the woman who seemed like she was seconds away from passing out from hyperventilating.
“Sull,” Callow said, voice tight.
“Nothing we haven’t seen before, right, man?” I shot back, my gaze trying to follow the seemingly endless twisted wires.
Yellow.
All of them were yellow.
That shit you saw in movies or TV shows where there were different colored wires to indicate warm or cold ones? Yeah, that was pure bullshit. No bomb maker worth his salt would make it that easy to figure out which wires to cut to diffuse it.
“Gonna need some wire snippers,” I said to Callow, who was quick to turn and run toward the garage. “You’re gonna be just fine, honey,” I told her, inspecting the battery box. “I don’t plan on getting blown up today, okay?”
To that, she sniffled but nodded her head.
“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep her focused. Because the last thing I needed was for her to pass out when I was trying to snip a wire.
“B… Bonnie.”
“Well, hi, Bonnie. Thanks,” I said to Callow. “Now get the fuck out,” I said, casting him the smallest of glances.