Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
That motherfucker is not getting away. I'm so close.
I happen to spot the gun at the far end of the limo and crawl over to it, shove it in the back of my jeans as I drag myself through the crushed door. My leg hurts like a bitch. I pull myself from the wreckage, tripping as I go to stand. I catch myself on the ground, and my hands brush against a piece of rope lying beside the doorway. Shit! Joe was cutting the rope on the broken glass.
It's dark as fuck outside. I can hear the hum of the traffic on the highway above us, and I glance around, trying to see if I can spot Joe. I walk blindly after him, the pine needles crunching unevenly under my boots as I limp into the darkness. With each slow step pain radiates down my leg and warm blood trickle down my thigh. I have to stop and lean against a tree. I grab my thigh, squeezing in an attempt to dull some of the pain. After a few seconds, I pull in a hard breath and continue through the woods until I come to a small clearing. There's a break in the trees allowing a trickle of moonlight to filter through. It sheds just enough light to make out vague shapes. I stop, listening for even the faintest sound, but all I can hear is my racing pulse and heavy breaths.
I panic. I cannot go on with my life if he is not dead.
The clouds sweep over the moon, utter darkness swallowing everything around me. My head is pounding. The ringing in my ears is so loud I can barely make out the sound of a footstep right behind me. A thick arm wraps around my throat, pulling back and crushing my Adam's apple into my windpipe.
"I didn't underestimate a thing, JP," he growls in my ear, tightening his grip around my throat.
I choke for air, clawing at his hands to get him off of me. I tuck my chin and use all my strength to throw my elbow into his stomach. His grip loosens momentarily, and I'm able to twist out of his hold. I swing my fist in his direction, hitting him in the side of the face. He stumbles, and I grab my gun, but before I can aim, Joe's kicked it from my grasp. There's a soft thud as it land in the brush behind me.
"No, JP," Joe pants. "You are going to fight me like a man. I want to kill you with my bare hands."
I lay into him, throwing punch after, which he meets. My face is throbbing, and my mouth is filled with blood. I've never fought a man as strong as him. Joe punches me hard in the face, knocking me to the ground. When I stand back up, he grabs me by the throat again, but this time, I latch onto his. We stand face to face, our eyes locked as we choke one another. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as I squeeze harder. His fingers dig into my neck, his thumbs pressing beneath my chin. I can feel everything draining from my body, and my hold on him grows weak. I think of Tor and my clutch on him tightens. His eyes flutter as my vision blurs, and then, his hands drop from my neck and he falls to the ground. I bend over my knees, gasping for air.
I stare at his limp body sprawled out on the ground. "Fuck you," I breathe and walk toward the brush to search for my gun.
The clouds slowly roll away, and the light from the moon brightens just enough that I catch a glint. I reach down, relief washing over me as my hand wraps around the handle of my gun. My heart pounds relentlessly as I turn to put a bullet in that worthless fuckers head, but something collides with my temple. The force knocks me sideways, and I lose my grip on the gun when I land on my knees. My head throbs while my vision swims in and out. A large shadow falls over the ground beside me and feels the cold end of the gun press to the back of my head.
"Really, I am sorry for this to have to end," Joe says.
I drum my fingers nervously on my knee. The building in front of us is shrouded in darkness, the shadows hiding Marney's truck from the road.
The driver's window is open, and Marney blows a stream of smoke through the small gap. His gun rests on his thigh, his free hand casually resting on the steering wheel. I wish I could be as calm as he is. Marney has done this so long; nothing phases him.