Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152045 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 760(@200wpm)___ 608(@250wpm)___ 507(@300wpm)
I tip my head back, running my fingers through my hair, and when I bring it level again, I lock eyes with him.
Hunter stands just inside the steel doors, leaning slightly on the frame with his hands in his pockets, and my lungs empty at just the sight of him.
I think if he asked me for a sleepover, I’d go right now.
His hair sits messily across both sides of his head, never coiffed like Kade, because he’s like his mom and doesn’t like attention. If he didn’t look so much like Madoc, I’d wonder if he’d gotten any of his dad’s genes.
My stomach sinks, nerves setting in. He’s so unpredictable anymore, and I’m scared he’ll leave. Why am I afraid? Let him go.
I pull Aro and Quinn’s arms, smiling again, but just then, everything goes dark.
Screams slide through the air, and I halt in my skates, trying to avoid a collision. Big mistake. Someone crashes into my back, and before I know it, we’re all on the floor. Grunts and cries go off, others yelling, and I can’t help but laugh. I dig in my pocket for my phone to bring up the flashlight, but fingers clutch my arms, hauling me off the ground.
“Ow,” I say. It feels like more than one person grabbing me.
“They’re here!” a voice growls. “We have to hide!”
That’s not Quinn or Aro’s voice.
They grab my hand, and I stumble in my skates, looking around me. I can’t see anything.
“What?” I blurt out, struggling to keep up as I slide my phone back into my pocket. “Who?”
“The Pirates!”
They rush me outside, and I call out behind me. “Aro! Quinn!”
I’m shoved against a car, my wrists pinned behind my back, and I fight as I try to blow the hair from my eyes.
“Guys, what the hell?” I bark.
In seconds, my wrists are tied behind my back, tape is over my mouth, and a blindfold covers my eyes.
Is this a game? It has to be.
They shove me in a car, my legs getting pushed out of the way as someone sits down next to me and starts tying my laces together. I pull against the bindings behind my back, but I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of having a tantrum. They’re probably filming this.
Plus, I’m still wearing my skates. I won’t get far if I try to escape.
The car takes off, music blasting so loud it hurts my ears, and I work myself into a sitting position. Who has me? Rebels? Pirates?
We drive for a minute, then two, as the wind sweeps through an open window, blowing my hair.
But when the song breaks, I hear something.
Tapping.
I listen.
It’s the person next to me. They’re texting.
Then an alert goes off on a phone up front. A short pause. And then the phone of the person next to me dings again.
They’re texting each other.
And playing loud music so I can’t recognize any sounds? Voices?
Fear grips me now. Why are they disguising everything possible for me to detect my location or abductors?
I strain to breathe.
Winslet comes to mind, and I quietly struggle against my restraints again. Am I coming back from this?
The air turns wetter, thicker, and in a minute, I feel drops of rain on my arm from the open window. I try to spread my lips and pry off the tape, but it stings too much, and I stop.
The air smells of dirt as the car swerves and then makes a sharp left. I brush my hand against my phone in my back pocket. Should I take it out?
No. I won’t be able to see what I’m doing, and I’ll risk them seeing the light from the screen. They may not care that I have it, but I can’t risk them taking it.
But a thought occurs to me. What if they’re dumping me straight into the river? I should try to call for help now, right? No time to waste.
Before I can decide, the car skids to a halt and everyone is exiting the vehicle. I’m pulled out, my feet rolling underneath me in my skates, and I have to grab on to whoever has me in order to stand up again.
“Help me,” they whisper to someone.
Another pair of arms take me, but when they force me to move forward, I start fighting. More hands grab me, and soon I’m off my feet altogether, being carried into the brush. I hear them shuffle through fallen leaves and tall grass.
Crows caw, and I suddenly smell metal and rust. Like a junkyard.
Oh, no. A car. Just like her.
I flail, growling behind the tape, “Ah!”
I hear the creak of heavy hinges, and I’m shoved onto my back, landing against broken leather. The tears in the seat pinch the skin of my back, and I kick, my foot landing against something hard.
“Fuck!” they grunt, but I can’t tell who it is. A woman, I think, but her voice is too low to recognize.