Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I tighten my hold, pulling her closer. “We’ll fight,” I promise, though the practical side of me wonders how. Bound wrists, two of us against armed men, locked inside a shipping container. Our chances look grim.
Yet in the dim gloom, we cling to each other, sharing warmth, tears, and the faint flicker of hope. Lincoln will come, I repeat in my head like a mantra. Dean will come. They won’t let us vanish, not like this. My mind conjures images of Lincoln’s determined face, of Dean’s fierce protectiveness, and for a moment, the panic recedes enough to let me think.
I rub my zip-tied wrists against the cage bars, testing if friction can wear them down. The plastic stings against my skin, but I keep at it, fueled by the slightest chance that maybe we can free ourselves. Meanwhile, Sophia tries to shift her position for comfort, wincing at the bruises on her thighs and arms. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out at the injustice.
Time crawls. The container’s heat intensifies, each breath more labored. We’re both dehydrated, fear gnawing at our insides. Sophia falls into an exhausted stupor for a while, head lolling against my shoulder, but I can’t sleep—my nerves remain too frayed.
Eventually, the container door creaks open again, and my heart leaps with dread, imagining a final push to load us onto a ship. But it’s just one of Morris’s men—alone—tossing a couple of water bottles onto the floor near the cage. Neither of us can pick them up with our hands bound, but maybe we can maneuver them if we’re careful. The man sneers, unimpressed by our plight, then leaves as quickly as he arrived.
We manage to tip one bottle with our feet, rolling it enough that I can press the opening to my lips, sipping water in messy gulps. Sophia does the same. It’s humiliating, doing it like animals, but we have no choice.
The heavy hush returns. Outside, the dull clang of metal on metal suggests forklift trucks or cranes moving cargo around. The occasional distant shout drifts in, men working on the docks. My skin crawls with the knowledge that we’re so close to civilization—there are probably people walking around out there, oblivious to the hell inside this container.
“We’ll get out of this,” I whisper, though the quiver in my voice betrays my own doubts.
She nods. “I know we will.”
“I’ll keep trying to see if I can wear these ties down. Maybe break them,” I breathe, tears pricking my own eyes. “It’s not working well, but who knows, crazier things have happened.”
Sophia glances around and then spots a jagged piece of metal closer to her than me. “I’ll try this.” She rubs her zip ties against the metal.
Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes into an eternity of suffocating dread. The inevitability of a ship departure weighs on my mind, the horrifying reality of what Lazarus Delgado plans for us looming like a black storm cloud.
Yet in the midst of that despair, I cling to one shining thread: Lincoln and Dean. I replay every memory of their bravery, their determination. Dean, unstoppable when someone threatens his family. Lincoln, ex-military and unwavering in his protectiveness. They’ll come for us, I tell myself. They must.
I glance at Sophia as she keeps trying to break free. “We can’t give up,” she murmurs, voice determined. “Dean always told me… never lose hope.”
My own tears slip free, dripping onto the container floor. “He’s right. We won’t.”
“Got it,” Sophia declares triumphantly as she is able to break free from her ties. “Let me do yours,” she whispers, and my smile widens at the thought of breaking free.
Chapter 27
Lincoln
I’m gripping the steering wheel so hard my fucking knuckles ache, eyes fixed on the dimly lit road stretching toward Saint Pierce’s shipping port. Dean rides shotgun, scanning the horizon with the same anxious tension that twists my stomach into knots. Behind us, three SUVs loaded with Maddox Security men follow, headlights cutting through the darkness. The sound of the tires on pavement seems unnaturally loud in my ears, even over the chatter coming from the comms units we’ve distributed.
“Everyone confirm comms,” Dean says, voice low but carrying authority. One by one, each driver checks in. My own earpiece crackles with the affirmatives. Good. We’ll need all the coordination we can get tonight.
We got the tip less than an hour ago—a security camera from a nearby gas station caught the black van carrying Isabel. Another angle from a city traffic cam showed it headed for the Saint Pierce docks. That was all we needed to mobilize. The moment we realized Lazarus Delgado could be shipping them abroad, everything slid into hyperdrive. My heart hasn’t stopped pounding since.
Dean exhales heavily, running a hand through his cropped hair. “Lazarus is out of his mind,” he mutters, almost to himself. “If he thinks he’ll get away with taking Sophia and my sister overseas, he’s going to learn otherwise tonight.”