Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Snap.
I’m free.
I rip the hood off my head, blinking at the dim, flickering light overhead. It’s a concrete room with a metal door and no windows. Definitely a warehouse or a back alley butcher shop. Either way, not ideal.
Mads is still gagging. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hope you get tetanus from this floor.”
“Noted.” I rub my raw wrists, then reach for her zip ties.
“No,” she says sharply. “Moira, no. You can’t free me. If I go with you, they’ll think I helped you escape. I’m fucked if that happens. You can still stop all this. You need to run to that priest, break it off, and then disappear. If I stay, I can make sure Domhnall stays safe. I won’t do anything that puts him in danger.”
My stomach twists. “Mads—”
“No.” Her voice is iron. “I mean it. You know me. You know I’m not bluffing. Domhnall’s everything to me, and I’ll play their game if it keeps him alive. But you have to go. Just break up with the priest, for fuck’s sake! It’s the only way any of us makes it out of this alive.”
I hesitate, my heart hammering. “This is stupid.”
“Oh yeah? Well, so is love, but here we fucking are. Now get the hell out of here before they catch you, or I swear I’ll start screaming.”
Footsteps echo in the hallway.
Fuck.
“You better not die,” I hiss at her. “Because Domhnall will so fucking kill me if you die.”
“I’ve got more lives than a cat,” she whispers, “Now get the fuck out of here!”
I hesitate. Just for a second.
Then I run.
The hallway is dim, smelling like damp concrete and impending doom. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and I don’t have time to think about anything except run, Moira, run.
But of course, because the universe hates me, a door at the end of the hall swings open, and out steps a brick shithouse of a man. Bald, beefy, wearing a scowl like he was born with it. And he’s got a gun in one hand.
“Well, well,” he drawls, cracking his knuckles like some dime-store henchman. “Looks like the little rabbit got out of her hole.”
Oh, he’s one of those guys. Big. Dumb. Likes to intimidate. Probably has a really complicated relationship with his mother.
I plant my feet and tilt my head. “Oh, wow. A scary man with a gun. I’m so frightened.” I clutch my chest like some old-timey fainting maiden. “Please, sir, don’t hurt me!”
His eyes narrow. “You think this is funny?”
This is the problem with feeling ambivalent about death. It really makes you lose a proper scope of situations. I realize, somewhere in the back of my brain, I ought to be shitting my drawers right now.
But all I register is being pissed the fuck off.
“Oh, no. I know it’s funny.” And then I charge.
Look, I don’t do things by halves. I go all in. So I sprint at him like an actual lunatic, shrieking at the top of my lungs, flailing my arms like a windmill in a tornado.
It works.
The guy’s brain short-circuits, his gun goes up, and that’s all I need.
I launch myself at him, clawing at his face like a feral raccoon that’s just been evicted from a dumpster. I get a handful of his ear, yank, and he howls. The gun wobbles in his grip, and I slam my knee right between his legs.
“Oh—FUCK—!” he grunts, doubling over, and I use the opportunity to rip the gun from his hand.
I take two steps back, leveling the barrel at his forehead while he groans and tries to collect himself.
“Damn,” I say, catching my breath. “You are terrible at this. Didn’t they teach you anything in goon school?”
He blinks, then scowls. “Where’s Veronica?”
I freeze.
Veronica?
Who the fuck is Veronica?
For a split second, my brain does the math—and then it clicks. Oh. Mads. He doesn’t know her real name.
Right. Time to improvise.
I let out a bitter little laugh, rolling my eyes. “That bitch? She’s the reason I’m in this mess. She set me up! And has been bamboozling my brother. Soon as I got loose, I bolted. Fuck her.”
He studies me like he’s deciding whether to believe me. So I do what any good liar does: I double down.
“You think I’d waste my time saving someone who betrayed me and my family? Please. You’re stupider than you look. And listen here. I’m not an idiot. My brother and I are out. I’m breaking it off with Blackwolf Jr, got it? I don’t need this shit.”
His lip curls, and for a second, I think he’s gonna say something. Maybe call me a liar. Maybe take his chances.
Too bad for him, I don’t give him the opportunity.
I swing the gun, cracking him right in the temple with the handle. His eyes roll back, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.