Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Mint raises his hands. “What do you want, man? I can pay you. Let us go and—”
“Your car,” the man drawls.
“My car?” Mint stammers.
The man’s smile stretches. “With your girlfriend in it.”
Chapter 2
Cas
I stop breathing. My heartrate goes into overdrive. Not that. Please, not that.
Mint’s voice is faint. “What?”
The man turns his gaze on me. When he speaks, he addresses me gently, like nothing is wrong and Mint isn’t wetting himself next to me. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He points the gun at Mint. “Get out.”
Mint fumbles with his door handle.
“Don’t,” I say in a quietly hysterical voice, gripping Mint’s arm.
The man’s command is louder this time. “Get out.”
Mint opens the door. Before he stumbles out, I’ve unclipped my safety belt. I’d rather take my chances and run. I’d rather be shot in the back than let this man take me to wherever he has planned to do whatever with me. A shiver runs over my body as I imagine all the whatevers this man could do.
“Stop,” he says when I reach for the handle, “and no one gets hurt.” He pushes the gun against Mint’s temple, pulls him around the door, and shuts it.
“Fuck, Cas,” Mint whimpers with his hands in the air. “Do as he says.”
The man holds out his palm. “Give me your wallet and phone.”
Mint fishes his wallet from his pocket and drops it in the man’s hand. “My phone is in the car.”
“Hand it over,” the man says to me.
I fumble in the console between the seats, locate the phone and lean over to hand it to him through the window.
“Yours too,” he says.
I take my phone from my bag and give that to him too.
“Walk,” the man says, jabbing Mint in the ribs.
Mint squints into the distance. “What?”
“You have two choices. Either you stick around and stay with your girlfriend or you walk. I won’t give you another chance.”
Mint doesn’t walk. He runs. He runs like a maniac, looking over his shoulder as if he expects our hijacker to shoot him in the back. To be honest, so do I, but eventually, the darkness swallows Mint and no shot rings out. His footsteps no longer echo on the tarmac. He’s gone off the road, over the fence, and into the bushes.
It’s quiet suddenly. Even the crickets and frogs don’t make a sound.
Paralyzed with fear, I swallow.
“Hey,” the man says softly from the driver’s side, waiting until I face him through the open window. “Can you drive?”
I nod.
“You comfortable driving this car?” he asks.
I nod again.
“You’re going to be fine.” His voice is calm, reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you, baby doll. Come on,” he coaxes. “Get out.”
My hands shake and my legs wobble as I comply. He’s at my door when I straighten, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. I’m too terrified to pull away. I don’t want to anger him. Despite my bravery of earlier, I don’t want to die. I don’t really want to take a bullet in the back or in any other part of my body. Shit, I don’t want to die here or somewhere in the bushes.
“Hey,” he says, wiping a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re okay. Everything is going to be fine. Understand?”
I bob my head up and down even as I don’t believe him.
He lifts my bag that’s slung diagonally across my chest over my head and grabs it in his big hand. Gripping my bicep, he steers me around the car and opens the door on the driver’s side. As he leans inside, he scrunches up his face. He looks around, grabs Mint’s denim jacket from the back, and wipes the seat dry of Mint’s urine before pushing me inside. He’s careful, making sure I don’t bump my head or my knees. He adjusts the seat before pulling the safety belt over my chest and securing it.
“Grab the wheel,” he says.
My knuckles turn white as I obey. He fishes something from his back pocket. When he produces a pair of handcuffs, my heart threatens to stop.
“Please,” I say, tears springing to my eyes.
“Shh.” He strokes a palm over my hair but doesn’t heed my plea. Instead, he makes quick work of handcuffing my hands to the wheel. “Wait here,” he says, closing the door.
It’s not like I have a choice. I drag the stink of urine with a breath of air into my lungs and watch with a sob catching in my throat as he goes back to the truck, gets in, and drives away.
What the…? I jerk my head to both sides and stretch my neck as far back as I can. Why is he leaving me here? Is he with a gang? Is he leaving me for someone else to finish off?
A loud crash makes me jump. Metal rattles. It sounds like the fence. I prick up my ears when the noise fades out. A door slams. Silence.