Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
The horn blares again, but I refuse to climb off the bed and look out the window. Nash was very adamant that I stay inside and he’d be back shortly to get me. I don’t think he’d find a vehicle and honk for me to come outside and join him.
I try to ignore the insistence that he’s the one out there and if I don’t go, he’ll take off and leave me.
An engine revs before the sound of tires squealing filters into the room. The silence that follows makes me shake even harder.
I’ve been an independent woman for years. Even before my parents died, I did things on my own. I wasn’t exactly the most social person, but I never thought twice about getting things done. I wasn’t scared out of my skin with the thought of looking out a damn window.
My chin trembles when I realize that I’ll never actually be free from Cortez. The things they did to me, the things they made me do, have changed everything about me. The trauma will follow me to the grave, and knowing it makes me hate him even more.
I was a fool for thinking I could just return to my life, maybe get some counseling to work through all of it.
I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands but I can’t even seem to fake a little bravery right now. I’m not prone to pity parties and feeling sorry for myself. I was never afforded the luxury, having so many responsibilities after my parents’ car accident. Alani was my focus. She’s always been my focus, and now she hates me.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm myself. If she’s safe, she can hate me all she wants.
Lost in my own head, I have to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming when the doorknob turns. Standing in the open doorway, Nash watches me as if he’s afraid to get any closer.
“Ayla?”
I attempt one last time to dash the tears from my face with my hands, but realize I’d be better off saving my energy for something I can control, because this clearly isn’t one of them.
“You came back,” I whisper.
“I told you I would,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice for having doubted him.
Now isn’t the time to explain that my parents said they’d see me after my class. The plan was to meet at one of their favorite restaurants. It was a Tuesday tradition, one that Alani started skipping out on, claiming to be busy with after-school projects.
Before the accident, I was annoyed that she was putting distance between herself and the rest of us. After the accident, I was never more grateful that she wasn’t in the car with them that evening.
“I don’t do well with promises,” I confess.
He nods, just one simple, quick dip of his head as if he completely understands.
“We have to go.”
Instead of questioning his plan or grilling him about where he’s been for the last hour or so, I climb off the bed, not bothering to look back and make sure I didn’t miss anything. He instructed me to pack everything up, which was only the change of clothes we each have and the small amount of food and water we haven’t consumed yet.
The bag he brought from the market is sitting beside the door. He doesn’t hesitate to lift it up, his huge hand gripping the strap.
Nash points toward a double cab truck idling in the parking lot, but I’m no more enthusiastic to climb inside this one than I was the one Angel was driving. I don’t recognize the man behind the wheel.
“Can we trust him?”
Nash shakes his head. “Probably not.”
I freeze, glaring at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “Just being honest, but I swear I’ll keep you safe.”
I watch as he runs his hand down his shirt, not knowing exactly how to feel when he shows me the handgun tucked into his waistband.
“We’re both going to ride in the back. If he tries any funny shit, I’ll put a bullet in his head.”
It should bother me that Nash would be so quick to kill someone else, but his willingness to do so actually makes me feel a little safer.
“Look at him like an Uber driver or something,” he urges as we walk closer. “We’re paying him for a service. Only if the trip sucks, he ends up dead rather than getting a low review.”
“That’s awful,” I tell him.
“That’s incentive to make sure we’re pleased with the service,” he argues, opening the back door of the SUV so I can climb inside.
The man doesn’t even bother looking back at us as we settle on the back seat, and it makes me wonder if Nash already threatened him before coming back to the room to get me.