Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
A loud thud is followed by the thug’s grunt. The encroaching darkness retreats as the wire loosens. Blake emerges from the black spots dancing in my eyes. He pulls up his pants, panting, eyes wide with terror, and the large wooden Santa gnome I painted last year trembles in his hand.
I want to tell him he did good, but there’s no time for praise yet.
The assassin is dazed but already tries getting up from the bed where he fell. I grab the comforter and pull, dragging him off with it. Blood drums in my head, pain in my back radiating all the way to my fingers, but I don’t let go of the fabric and pull again. He rolls off the comforter and to the floor like a toy. I finally have the upper hand. I drop the cover on him and descend on top while he’s blinded.
I don’t know how he found out where Blake was, but this is clearly yet another assassin out to extinguish his life, and that is not going to happen on my watch. The bastard twists under me, and I lift my body in the last moment when a dagger pierces the comforter, emerging in an explosion of down. I go rigid as I attempt to block his arm with my knee without giving his lower body too much wiggle room. The dagger punches through the layers of fabric and duck feathers again. I’m in a daze and slam my fist into the bastard’s head over and over, determined to protect Blake from this monster. I might have delivered more blows than was strictly necessary by the time it becomes clear my opponent has gone limp.
I’m breathing hard, but there’s no time to lose in case he’s not dead. I actually hope he’s not, because this fucker might have the information I need.
Blake is still holding the wooden statue and stares at me with raw fear in those green eyes. “I have a box of fairy lights in the living room. Behind the sofa. Bring them.”
“Wh-what?” he utters.
I grin when I sense movement under me. “They’re cables. To tie him.”
Blake gives me a frantic nod and makes a step toward the door, only to stop with a little whine. I don’t know what this is about until he switches on the light, revealing the glass scattered everywhere. He twists his leg to pull a shard from the heel of his foot.
Our eyes meet, and he places the figure back on my nightstand. “I’ll… get shoes too,” he says as he takes a long stride and exits the room.
“Be careful,” I add, but soon enough, he’s back with both slippers and the cable.
I’m just glad the assassin is still dazed as fuck, because he’s like a puppet in my grip when I tie his arms and legs, then attach the ties to the footboard of the bed for good measure.
I slap his face several times. “Wakey wakey, fucker.” But then I look up at Blake as I grab one of the knives. “I need to find out who sent him. You… might want to wait in the living room for this.”
He’s pale, and his skin glistens with sweat, but despite glancing to the door, his feet remain firmly on the floor. I know he made up his mind when that green gaze hardens. “No. I need to know.”
He doesn’t specify what he wants to learn, but I don’t question it. The assassin must have come for him, and he deserves to find out why.
I’m about to slap my prisoner awake when gentle fingers trace my back.
“He cut you,” Blake utters. “Where’s your—”
“It can wait,” I tell him, because it’s only a superficial injury.
The assassin opens his bloodshot eyes, his head still lolling from side to side, and I grab his jaw so he looks at me.
“Fuck you,” is all he has for me to start with, so I punch him in the stomach, and that snaps him to attention.
“We’re not calling the cops until you tell us who sent you.” We’re not calling the cops either way, but he doesn’t need to know that just yet.
He frowns through the pain and spits some blood my way as he speaks. “Sent me? What the hell are you talking about?”
I punch him square in the face so hard the back of his head thuds against my footboard. I already detest the future clean-up, especially so late at night, and in my private, murder-free space at that!
I can sense Blake’s presence behind me, but he remains quiet, letting me work. I kinda like him watching me when I’m in my element.
I cock my head at the man in front of me, then grab his hand with mock-concern. He looks average. Brown hair, crooked nose, flat, forgettable face. The perfect features for an assassin. “Oh, so you came here with all these knives and a garotte out of your own volition. Just a random little murder spree?”