Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 189782 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 949(@200wpm)___ 759(@250wpm)___ 633(@300wpm)
And they’re coming here?
Rhett must know that he’ll have an army of bloodthirsty, murderous fiends charging in with claws and fangs unsheathed.
He would’ve prepared for that.
He’s going to kill them.
I fight to control my thoughts, to quell the meltdown splitting my skull.
“I sent the photo to all of them with a link to the instructions to find you.” He removes his hand from my body and returns his attention to his phone, swiping the screen. “When they opened the link, spyware downloaded to their devices. The instructions advised them I was watching and listening and included threats against their security team if they involved them. Threats against the lives of anyone they involved. They followed my instructions, made no phone calls, took the yacht to Sitka, boarded the bush plane I left for them, and smashed their phones when they took off.”
They’re alone. Walking into a trap.
“Once they were in the air,” he says, “I sent the coordinates for the cabin to the avionics GPS in the plane. The communication system is disabled, but I can see where they are through the GPS system.” He glances around the cabin. “This place is special. It’s our safety from the world. Our home. I don’t want anyone to find it.”
Maybe they found a way around his instructions without his knowledge. His confidence in his plan makes my blood run cold, but Monty, Leo, and Kody are smart. They’re survivors.
I have to believe they’ll outsmart him.
“I’ve been watching them the entire way.” He gestures at his phone. “They haven’t deviated from the flight path. Haven’t made any stops. They have no advantage. No way out unless they turn back in the next thirty minutes. If they do, I’ll activate the bomb on board.” He squints at me, his expression chilling. “Turns out you were right. They are willing to die for you.”
The backs of my eyes catch fire as tears swarm my vision. I blink them away and shift my focus to the closed door. No help there.
Then I look at him and blink hard, two quick blinks, a desperate Morse code for no.
“No?” He brushes the hair from my face, sending a shiver along my dead limbs. “You don’t want to see the men you worked so hard to unite? The men you love so much? They’re my gifts to you. And there’s more.”
He stands and paces out of view. I track his footsteps into the kitchen. Straining my ears, I try to pick up any details, something that might help me as he moves around in the other room.
What did we leave behind when we escaped? Weapons in the armory. Knives in the kitchen. Scissors on the counter. None of that helps when I can’t lift a finger.
My brain works frantically, formulating possibilities.
I will not let them die.
We survived this place once. We’ll survive it again.
Think, Frankie. Fucking think.
I know the drug’s effects are short-acting if not continuously administered. If I can disrupt the IV, maybe I can regain control of my body.
Scanning the room, I look for anything within reach. The edge of a table, a zipper on the couch cushion, anything I can use to dislodge the IV. My mind whirls with desperation.
In extreme situations, a surge of adrenaline can sometimes help the body override paralysis. If I can just get a hand moving, maybe I can pinch or damage the IV line.
I shut my eyes, listening to his footsteps in the kitchen while willing my fingers to move, to close, to tear. Perspiration beads along my temples. Tears leak down my face. My insides tremble with the effort to unlock my joints.
The sound of his approach snaps my eyes open, the burst of energy quickly fading.
Not yet. But I can do this. I’ll find a way.
He reenters the room, his demeanor calm. Too calm.
His blue eyes meet mine, and I hold his gaze in silent defiance.
“As much as I don’t want to cover your gorgeous body, I don’t want you to be cold.” He kneels at my side, holding a velvety green robe. “I have something to show you. Something I’ve been collecting for you.”
I don’t want it. Please, don’t show me anything.
He maneuvers my limbs, the IV fluid bag, and portable pump into the robe, ties the sash, and sets the bag on my stomach. Then he lifts me into his arms and carries my immobilized body into the kitchen.
While my arm dangles like a lead weight, my eyes are restless, frantically taking in each new angle.
I don’t expect to find a table. It was one of the first things we burned in the hearth.
The scent of cold, damp earth merges with something sterile, something wrong. My heart rattles against my ribs, but there’s nothing I can do.
Rhett carefully lays me on a new kitchen table.
A table surrounded by people.