Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
He’s wearing a denim jacket, and a purple T-shirt with puffy, balloon-like letters that read Dream Big printed at the front, but there’s also a gun tucked into the back of his jeans, and his eyes keep wandering.
Is this his idea of a big dream? Me, cuffed to a chair in his friend’s home?
“He wasn’t alone,” Mothman says, absent-mindedly swiping his screen. “I saw another guy.”
Otto pulls out my gag, but I don’t scream. I don’t think there would be a point to it. “Some people, like you, are meant to be losers. Prey. And people like me, natural predators, will hunt you if we choose to. You stepped out of line, and you will regret that.”
The smack to my face comes out of nowhere, and it’s so harsh it makes my head ring. I let out a yelp that makes Beardy glance our way, but he’s not going to intervene, too busy polishing his gun again.
I look up at Otto with a scowl. He thinks he’s at the top of the food chain? How pathetic. He might be a vulture at best. Now Saint… that’s the real deal, and Otto is right to be afraid. Just knowing that I have Saint on my side relieves some of my terror, because he will come. I know it.
Otto exhales and cracks his neck, never taking his eyes off me. “You were lucky to come out of that fire alive. You should be grateful we didn’t finish the job. How fucking stupid are you, huh?” he asks but slaps me again before I can answer. This time, I taste blood, but it’s far from the worst thing that’s happened to me.
This time, I have an ally, and Otto won’t kill me until he’s certain no one else is coming after him.
“With that fucked-up leg of yours, you couldn’t have been the one who killed the others. Who’s the guy helping you?” he asks.
My brain still rattles a little, but I’m shocked that I’m not hyperventilating and about to faint. I’ve changed. It was so gradual I didn’t notice it, but now I have the confidence to look into Otto Grass’s eyes without seeing him kill my mother. The memory is still there, like a shard of glass stuck so deep I won’t ever be able to remove it from my flesh, but being with Saint and becoming my own champion of justice changed me. I’m no longer the scared boy I was.
“I hired a hitman,” I say plainly and give him a menacing grin despite the blood on my tongue. I don’t want Otto to think my connection to Saint is personal, so he can’t use it as leverage.
Mothman raises his head in attention. “You? Hired a hitman?”
“Yes, I did. So if you kill me, he will still come for you.”
Otto lets out a raspy laugh. “Hired him with what? The peanuts Chuck was paying you?”
I freeze as my confidence dwindles at the memory of Otto coming to the shop and taunting me by staring from the other side of the interior, as if he reveled in my distress. But Saint is coming, and I need to make sure he’s as safe as he can be.
“Lottery win. I told no one,” I whisper and hang my head, staring at Otto’s dirty boots.
“You should have kept it. Left the state, or even the country. But no, you had to be a dumb fuck. The thing with killers for hire, which you wouldn’t know, since you’re painfully unaware of how the world works, is that they are in it for the money only. They have no loyalty, and no remorse. At best, one more thing they care about is their reputation. All I need to do is call him and offer a better deal.”
He doesn’t know Saint, but I won’t volunteer any information he could use. Saint might be able to track Otto’s phone if he’s stupid enough to make the call.
I look up with pleading eyes. “No… Please… Maybe I made a mistake.” I don’t believe for a second my begging could change Otto’s plans for me. In fact, I hope he’ll call Saint, just to hurt me. But that is the goal. I need him to believe that Saint doesn’t care whether I live or die.
“Why are we even keeping this clown alive? He’ll be wasting Shawn’s water,” Mothman says before chuckling to himself as he starts typing on his phone. I bet he’s popular with the ladies. Not.
“Ever heard of keeping a hostage?” Otto snarls, but my heart leaps when he pulls out his battered cell. “You can even use them as human shields, if necessary.”
Mothman rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that ever happens in real life.”
Otto growls. “Who’s your fucking boss, huh?”
“You are,” Mothman grumbles.
Otto holds the phone between his head and shoulder as he approaches a dirty coffee table in front of the sofa. The room is oppressive in its normalcy. I had a sack over my head on the way here, so I don’t know where we are, but there are lights outside so it might as well be some suburb. To think that less than a month ago, I was afraid to even enter someone’s house with them. I guess such fears become irrelevant when one’s life is on the line.