Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Someone was coming toward me.
At a damn run.
My hands shook on the lock.
But before I could even say ‘to hell with this,’ and turn to run, a body rammed into me, sending me flying onto my butt on the hard floor.
Pain ricocheted from my butt and up my hips.
I couldn’t stop to feel the pain, though, as I scrambled onto all fours, pushed myself up to my feet, and ran.
I felt like I was choking on my heart that was suddenly wedged high up in my throat, making my head feel light and my chest tight.
I was forced to go in the opposite direction I was familiar with, further from my car, from safety.
My heartbeat was thundering in my ears as I threw myself down one of the cross hallways, then—sure I heard footfalls behind me—I made the mistake of running down another hall, one I figured would have a glowing Exit sign at the end, like all of the others.
But there was nothing but a blank wall.
Shit, shit, shit.
My heart crushed in my chest as I looked around, praying for a fire extinguisher or one of those hatchets in a glass box. Did those still exist? I had no idea. All I did know was there was nothing around to use to defend myself with.
Why hadn’t I taken the damn padlock with me? One of those things could do some damage if whipped at someone’s face.
Even as I thought that, though, I turned to find an empty hallway stretched out before me.
I’d been imagining those footsteps behind me. Or they’d decided to give it up and leave me alone and get out of there before there was any real kind of trouble.
I stood there for a moment, feeling a strange sort of comfort when the lights slowly clicked off because I knew I was temporarily invisible.
I let myself take a few slow, deep breaths. I rolled my shoulders. I swallowed past that lump in my throat.
Then, sure there were no sounds around to worry about, I started moving.
I paused at the end of the hallway, looking for any signs of light or life. Finding none, I went back toward my unit, squeezed my padlock closed, then said to hell with decorum and ran my ass off toward the exit.
“Of course,” I grumbled as the rain spat down when I made it outside, dashing to my car, throwing myself in, and locking the door.
I didn’t even close my trunk as I sat there, hands shaking, glancing around the lot.
But there were no other cars.
If it weren’t for my sore ass, I would have assumed I’d let my overactive imagination get the better of me, that I’d been running from shadows, not an actual person.
There was no denying how much my butt hurt, though.
With that in mind, I turned over the car, reversed out of my spot, and made my way to the gates, stopping immediately on the other side of them, ready to go in and demand to see the security footage and call the police. Only to find the office was closed for the day.
“Sounds about right,” I grumbled, pressing my head back into the rest.
I had a car still half full of junk, a missing box from my storage unit, a bruised butt, and something wrong with the books at work.
I moved around my car, the rain plastering down my hair as I slammed the trunk with more force than necessary.
By the time I got back into the car, I was soaked, shivering, and stewing in my own sour mood.
I mean, really, what had I been thinking? Picking up my whole life, leaving everyone I knew and cared about behind, to move to some random town in New Jersey to live in a messy, run-down house that perpetually smelled a mix of dusty and musty, and working at a repair shop. When I knew nothing about cars. And was painfully aware of how unwelcome I was.
I mean, really, what was I thinking?
I guess I felt like I, I don’t know, owed it to my uncle to take over things since he’d left it all to me.
And, fine, my life had become a bit stagnant in Washington. I was hanging with the same friends, doing the same things, living in the same apartment, dating the same losers.
I’d seen the news of a new house, a new business, and new opportunities as some sort of sign from the universe that it was time to move on, to try something new.
Now, though, I wasn’t so sure.
I was barely keeping my head above water financially. I was working myself to the bone on both the shop and the house, but feeling like I was making next to no progress. I’d made no new friends.
And, God, I was so, so lonely.
I think I’d been expecting to form some sort of kinship with the guys at the garage, to be able to foster some built-in friendships there.