Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
But Cam and Roderick closed in ranks a bit, making it clear that I wasn't here to be a play toy, to be hit on, to be used in any way.
"Cut the shit, JB. Do you have the gun or not?"
"Oh, me, baby? I have lots of guns. We have lots of guns. Don't we?" he asked and like some cheesy movie where a bunch of green idiots walk into a clear trap, members of JB's gang closed in ranks on all sides of us.
Roderick's fingers tapped my hip in what felt like a silent plea not to jump to conclusions, that this was not the time for hot-headedness, that maybe they were just putting on a show, trying to seem more important than they were.
"If we're done with the theatrics, show me the gun, so we can get this over with before someone calls the cops on us all."
"Chill, baby. What's the rush? Ain't nobody tell you it's better to build up the anticipation?"
"Ain't nobody tell you that 'ain't' isn't a word and double negatives make you sound like an idiot?"
Crap.
That just got away from me.
"Oh, she's got spirit. Know what I could do to shut that mouth up, bitch?"
Oh, we were at bitch already.
It felt almost premature for bitch.
Then again, everything about this guy screamed premature.
"Yeah, JB. She got them blowjob lips," another of his buddies chimed in, bolstered up because they outnumbered us.
And, really, blowjob lips?
Were we in middle school?
"Look, JB. We have more important things to do tonight than stand here and listen to your adolescent bullshit. Do you have the gun or not?"
"Depends. You got the cash?"
I could feel Cam and Roderick's bodies tensing at my sides.
Because we all knew it.
They didn't have the gun.
But they knew we had the money.
"Gee, I must have left it in the car," I said, trying for snarky and unaffected even as I tried to count their ranks, as I tried to gauge how long it would take us to get behind some kind of shelter to protect us from bullets, how long it would take to get back to the car, how many shots we could potentially take by then.
It wasn't looking good for us.
And in this kind of situation, it was best to find a way to cut your losses to avoid bloodshed.
They could have the cash.
And we could walk out of there.
They knew my operation stood no chance of moving against them, as ragtag as they might be with their ridiculous tribal ink and gauged ears.
"Bullshit. I think the bitch has it under her shirt. Maybe we should check," another of his guys suggested, pursing his lips at me.
I took half a step forward toward JB, reaching down slowly to yank up the front of my shirt, showing the stacks shoved into the waistband of my jeans, making it clear he could take it.
"We just wanted the gun. We don't want any problems."
"Problems? We won't have no problems," JB said, moving a step closer and I could feel my men getting even more tense, but not wanting to be the ones to reach for weapons first if violence could be avoided still. "This looks like the right amount of cash to me," he said, reaching to grab the stacks, his fingers dipping a lot further into my pants than they needed to, making my skin start to crawl, my stomach twist. But I stayed still. I tried to keep this from escalating.
We were getting robbed.
It seemed almost like karma at this point.
"But," he said, making me stiffen as he shoved my money into his pocket. "I think we could sweeten the pot."
His hand was around my throat, twisting me to hold me against his body before I could even try to stop him.
And by the time my vision stopped whirring from the change of position, I saw guns.
Not just Roderick and Cam.
But ten or so others from JB's men.
It was easy to tell yourself to be smart, stay calm, that getting worked up would only make you slow and cause you to forget every self-defense skill you had ever learned in life.
But your body wasn't always willing to listen to reason.
Mine wasn't.
Not faced with the odds before us.
It didn't matter how trained the three of us were.
We were outnumbered and out armed.
Even if none of them knew how to shoot for shit, the chances of them getting lucky hits were pretty damn high.
So my blood pressure spiked.
My pulse thudded in my temples, throat, wrists, groin.
Sweat beaded into my hairline despite the cold, trickled down the back that was pinned to JB's body.
My breathing got faster, more frantic, the weight on my chest making it hard to pull in the proper amount of air to keep my brain from feeling fuzzy.
Fuzzy.
That was what I felt.
"Oh, I think your friends are going to want to put their guns down, don't you, Liv?" JB asked, and I felt the unmistakable cold of a muzzle pressing into my temple.