Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 143842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
A block of ice slipped down Brooke’s spine. Shock and confusion confounded her senses.
No. There was no way Hailey’s father was saying what she thought he was.
She had to be mistaken.
Fear tumbling through her, she edged closer to the wall, concealing herself more, her heart battering at her chest.
“I sent him away saying I didn’t want to see him on the property again, told him to keep his mouth shut or else I was going to turn him in. I believe he’s afraid enough of that happening that he’ll stick to it for a bit. I want you to disappear from the ranch for a couple days and then take care of it, and do it clean,” he continued.
“The guy has a reputation for partying.”
Brooke finally recognized the second voice.
Brent.
The ranch manager.
“I’ll make it look like he had too much to drink and took a little dip in the lake and didn’t make it back out.”
“Good. I don’t want any ties to this ranch. Make sure it’s done far away from here.”
“I know the drill,” Brent said, so casual, like this happened on the regular.
Terror shivered through Brooke, and she pressed herself tighter to the shadows that spread across the wall, locking her throat to stop the cries that wanted to erupt.
They were going to kill Cody.
Oh God, they were going to kill Cody.
Why? What did he know? What had he done?
She had to stop this. Warn him.
“That’s why you’re the one person I can count on,” Mr. Wagner said. “After this, I want you in Austin to keep your eye on Pruitt. I want to know I can fully trust him before I send my daughter there.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll text you when it’s done and I’m on my way to Texas.”
“Good. Be safe.”
Be safe?
Be safe?
Brooke wanted to screech it, unable to comprehend what she’d heard. Nausea curled her stomach and fear saturated her skin. She pressed to the wall, petrified when footsteps started to thud on the wood planks, coming her way.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, praying to cover the sound of her breaths as Brent rounded the corner and started across the main porch. Her eyes were wide in horror as he passed.
She didn’t dare inhale until he had fully made it down the main porch steps and strode to the work truck parked in the distance, didn’t move a muscle until he started the truck and whipped it around in the dirt.
Then she sagged, her shoulders slumping as she stumbled forward to watch his taillights disappear down the driveway. Both relief and horror clawed at her insides.
Then her stomach toppled over when she heard the regret in the voice that came from behind. “Ahh, Brooke, I wish you hadn’t heard that.”
FIFTY
HAILEY
I squinted through the daze and the dust that billowed through the morning air.
My mind and spirit trapped on an out-of-control tilt-a-whirl.
Spinning.
Spinning.
Spinning.
“Get in the car, Hailey.” The man I’d adored for all my life, one I’d held on a pedestal, the one I’d believed good and right and caring, opened the back door of the black Mercedes where it sat off to the side of the road about fifty feet away.
My father.
His tone was grim and his expression was hard.
My knees wobbled. The world canting, the sky a spiraling vortex overhead.
Pain splintered through my body, the very real one that burned up my left side and the one that felt like my heart had been pulverized.
Crushed.
No longer recognizable.
“I gave you plenty of time to come to your senses, but you’ve run out of it,” he said.
I blinked, immobile, frozen. Still trying to process that my father had actually run me off the road. Trying to process that he was here. That he was doing this, whatever brutality it was he intended.
A shriek ripped free when a hand suddenly latched onto my wrist and jerked me forward.
Pruitt.
Vileness oozed over me in a slick of depravity as he pressed his mouth close to my face, and I felt the barrel of a gun press up into my ribs. “It’s time you listened.”
“Bring her here before someone comes by,” my father ordered, and Pruitt dragged me forward as I thrashed and flailed, my sense of fight or flight finally coming back to me.
I intended them both.
Pruitt tightened his hold.
Painfully wrenching down on my wrist, so hard I knew it would bruise.
“Watch yourself,” my father warned, his attention on Pruitt, as if he were suddenly concerned for my well-being.
I would have laughed at the absurdity of it if I wasn’t currently gulping through the fear.
Pruitt gritted his teeth, though he loosened his grip a fraction as he continued to haul me toward the car.
I fought him harder, my boots skidding on the loose gravel, arms flailing as he shoved me into the backseat.
One second later, a car came around the bend.