Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Twenty minutes later, we land in front of what looks to be an abandoned hangar.
“Wait here,” I tell the pilot, who points me to the door at the side of the building. The place is covered in snow and barely visible from the sky. Even walking up to the building, it’s hard to make out how big this place is because it blends in so well with its natural surroundings.
The freezing wind whips around my head, ice particles settling on my skin and hair. The inside of the hanger isn’t much warmer, but at least there’s no wind.
I walk through the large empty space that used to hold planes. A small dim light comes from a hallway toward the back of the building. It leads me to a row of doors; the first one is wide open, chatter coming from inside the room.
As soon as I step inside, the two men stop talking, their heads turn toward me, and they drop the playing cards in their hands onto the table.
“Mr. Diavolo…” One of them clears his throat. “We didn’t expect you to be here so soon.”
“Where is she?”
“Down the hall, last door. I’ll show you.” One of the goons jumps up, eager to show me what a good employee he is. The other one is less worried about crawling up my ass and stays quiet instead.
“I’m Rick,” the one leading the way explains. Then he points at the guy following us. “That’s Bruno.”
I simply nod, not caring what their fucking names are the least bit. Rick stops in front of the last door, fumbling with the key to unlock it.
“What condition is she in?” I ask while he tries out three different keys as if he forgot which one to use.
“She’s fine… I mean, we roughed her up a little when she was mouthy, but there’s no permanent damage.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“No.” Rick shakes his head. “Boss said not to.”
“And you always do what the boss says?” I challenge. “After all, you’re all alone in the middle of nowhere, nothing to let some steam off while a girl sits right under your nose. Seems like a waste not to fuck her.”
“That’s what I said,” Bruno chimes in. “She’s a pretty little thing too. It would have been fun to break her in and see what she was made of.”
Turning my head, I cast a look over my shoulder at Bruno.
With a grin, I say, “Maybe I’ll give you the opportunity to fuck her after all. Let’s see how well behaved she is today.”
“Let’s see.” Bruno smiles widely, showing off a set of uneven yellow teeth. With a creak, the door swings open, and my eyes come to rest on her small frame curled tightly into a ball on a filthy cot.
If I had a heart, I might give a shit. No. If she was someone else, maybe I’d be inclined to care about what she’s been through but knowing she is Matteo’s sister. Knowing she is the last person I can hurt when it comes to righting my wrongs with my daughter. Nothing she has been through matters to me. She might as well be invisible to me, and by the time I get through with her, she’ll wish she was.
7
DELILAH
My head falls forward, then snaps back, my good eye open wide. I have to force myself to stare at the light on the ceiling until purple spots dance in front of me. It’s the only way I can keep from falling asleep. No matter how much I want to, I can’t risk it.
Aspen should’ve killed me. One of them should have. If I could go back, I would beg for a bullet to put an end to all of this. Anything, so long as it was over.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Matteo in front of me. That splatter on the wall. His brains and fragments of skull mixed with the blood.
Though it isn’t Matteo who makes my heart hurt. The gory memories of the way he died aren’t what make me wake with a scream stuck in my throat.
It’s when I see Nash’s face instead of his. My twisted nightmares blend their deaths together into one endless horror.
I force a deep breath into my lungs to take in all the air they can hold. It’s stale, stuffy air, but my brain needs oxygen if I’m going to stay awake—my dreams aren’t the only thing I’m afraid of here.
I lift a shaking, filthy hand to my lip and wince even at the gentlest touch. I don’t know how long it’s been since Rick split it open.
At least it doesn’t throb so much anymore. I’m glad I can’t see it myself. The sight of my bruised face, the filthy matted strands of hair, and my sunken cheeks might be too much.