Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“You’re not in any position to bargain, sweetheart,” Thompson said. “Although it’s cute that you think you are.”
She detested him. He was looking at her size and thinking she was a child and already he could do and say whatever he wanted.
“If she’s alive, then clearly I have incentive to make as much money as possible for you,” Ambrie pointed out, trying to sound reasonable instead of sounding like she thought he was an imbecile. He was. She was going to cut his throat at the first opportunity. She didn’t dare look at Gleb because he knew she was going to do it. The interesting thing was, he didn’t care.
“There are all sorts of incentives for you to obey me, dear little Ambrielle, but yes, if she signs the papers, she won’t be killed. Do get it over with, Mrs. Moore. I’m running out of patience.”
“These papers aren’t worth—”
“Mom, just sign them,” Ambrie interrupted. “He wants them signed; just do it.”
Marcy Moore looked at her daughter and then to her husband. Her palm stroked down his arm, the pen between her fingers as steady as a rock. Her gaze flicked from her husband to Walker Thompson and then Ambrie.
Ambrie felt the protest welling up as Gleb shifted position. Time slowed down. Tunneled. She centered her attention on Gleb. He was the killer in the room. Walker Thompson thought he was the boss and safe. He was surrounded by bodyguards, but the only four that really mattered were Gleb; his partner, Denis; and the other two men standing just out of her reach. They were the real deal when it came to murder. She could see they were fast, efficient and meant business. They weren’t messy, and there was no hesitation. These were men who killed for a living.
“Don’t,” she hissed to Gleb. “You touch her, and I swear you’re a dead man. I mean it. You touch her, you’re dead. It will be you or me leaving this room alive. I swear that on my father’s soul.”
The big Russian shook his head. “I’m not going to kill her. You heard Thompson. She just must sign the papers. The money will be yours, and you can marry Thompson. All will be well. What happens after that is anyone’s guess.” He exchanged an amused look with the other Russians.
“Ambrie.” Marcy Moore spoke her name softly, lovingly.
Ambrie shook her head. “Mom. Please. Just sign. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. What he wants doesn’t matter. I need you. Just please don’t do this. Sign them for me. Do it for me.”
“I am doing this for you. So he can’t control you. You are not a puppet, Ambrie. You will never be a puppet for anyone.” There was no inflection in Marcy’s quiet voice. Her palm was still laid gently over her dead husband’s arm. The pen was in her other hand, poised over the papers. “Remember every single thing we ever said to you, Ambrie, because each word mattered and was told to you with love.”
“Mom.” Ambrie whispered her name in despair. Her mother was a strong woman. Once she made up her mind, there was no changing it. She despised men like Thompson. She loved her husband and daughter fiercely.
Ambrie took a deep breath and selected her own target. If her mother was sacrificing her life, then she would do the same. The Moore women were going down in a blaze of glory. Whatever plans Walker Thompson had for her, Ambrielle wasn’t about to comply. Her mother gripped the pen in one hand, and her gaze slid to Thompson, who had stepped close to watch her sign the papers.
Ambrie knew she couldn’t get to Gleb, but she could get to one of his men. The Russian on her left had taken his gaze from her, alert to her mother, watching with slight amusement as she suddenly struck at Thompson, the pen going from the paper as if she were about to sign, up toward his neck. His bodyguard yanked Thompson back so that he staggered, but Marcy Moore threw herself forward, the pen embedding itself in the bodyguard’s neck deep, right into the artery.
At the same time, Ambrie spun out of the hands of the Russian holding her captive and attacked one of Thompson’s bodyguards watching, using the same method as her mother had done, only she had weapons: two small knives she’d hidden in her sleeve. No one had thought to search her. She buried one deep with a hard flick of her wrist, throwing it accurately and then spinning to throw the second one at another guard standing in front of Thompson, killing one guard and wounding the other. The goal was to take down anyone standing between them. To get to Thompson. His guards were trying to hustle him out of the room.