Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“It’s quite all right.” He continues to smile down at me, and I swallow nervously. What is he doing here? He’s probably here to teach me a lesson that no one fucks with Cole. I may not know him, but I learned enough last night.
“How is Lilly?” she asks him.
He turns his attention to her, dismissing me at the mention of this Lilly. “She’s doing well. Thanks for asking.”
“Great. You’ll have to bring her over, and we can all go swimming. I know how much she loves the water. Like you.”
He laughs and nods. “Absolutely.” Then I feel his eyes back on me. “How does that sound, Austin?”
The way he says my name sounds like he wants to drown me. I don’t answer.
He throws me another sinister smile as if he knows how much being here is affecting me. “Well, we should get going,” Celeste says.
“Actually, I was wondering if Austin would like to go to lunch. A bunch of us seniors are meeting up …”
“No,” I say, but Celeste speaks at the same time.
“That would be great.” She leans down, kisses my cheek, and then looks at Cole. “You crazy kids have fun.” Then she walks off, leaving me standing with a murderer.
The smile he’s had this entire time drops off his face like he just removed a mask. His defined jaw sharpens, and his chest bows out—ready for a fight.
I take a nervous step back. “How did you find me?” I ask, and I hate that my voice shakes. Any courage I had last night now long gone.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he grips my forearm, the same one that he cut last night, and I know it was on purpose. I hiss in a breath as he turns and guides me down the stairs of the church and along the narrow walkway to the parked cars.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I snap.
“You don’t have a choice,” he growls. “Now get in the fucking car.” He yanks me to a stop and then shoves me through the driver’s side of the black two-door car. Then he’s falling into the driver’s seat, pushing me across the center console.
I scramble into the passenger seat awkwardly and quickly push down my dress to cover my thighs.
Before I can even reach for the door handle, he has the car in reverse and then squeals out of the parking lot.
I sit with my back plastered to his seat, my eyes on him as he races down the highway. His hand fisted on the clutch as he shifts gears. His dark blue t-shirt showcasing his toned forearms.
“What do you want, Cole?” He doesn’t answer. I see we are headed back the direction of my house, and I have a feeling he plans to place me in the grave he and Deke had dug for the guy who I burned. “I’m not going to tell the cops,” I say, letting out a long breath. I open my mouth to speak, but something warm gets my attention.
I yank up the sleeve of my red cardigan and hiss in a breath when I see blood running down my arm. His hand grabbing my forearm must have pulled my cut open.
“Fuck!” He hisses, noticing it, and demands, “You didn’t get that stitched up?”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Who the hell was going to stitch it up?”
He lets out a long breath and nods to the center console. “I’ve got a towel in there. Get it out and apply pressure to it.”
“Like you care if I bleed to death,” I snap.
“I don’t. But I don’t want that shit on my seats.”
“Bastard,” I mumble and open the console. When it pops up, I freeze as I stare down into it. There’s a black handgun and a knife along with a small black hand towel, a roll of duct tape, and a pair of handcuffs. Everything a serial killer needs.
He takes a quick look down and growls. He yanks out the hand towel, tosses it to me, and then slams the console closed, placing his right forearm over it.
I sit back in my seat and stare straight ahead, applying pressure to my forearm with the towel. “Where are we going?” I ask roughly. The car is too small for us to be this close together. All of a sudden, I realize I know nothing about this man, and whatever plan he had last night, I fucked it up. On purpose.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he reaches over and presses a knob on his dash, and “Coming Undone” by Korn fills the speakers. He turns it up to drown out my heavy breathing as we fly down the highway.
_________________________________
The clouds have opened up, and the rain has started to fall. We passed a sign thirty minutes ago that said Marita fifty miles.
He still hasn’t spoken or even looked my way. I’ve sat completely still, hoping he would forget I’m in the car.