Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84322 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“I have plans for you, Cole Hartman.” She put her face in his, her lips so close he could almost taste the sticky candy on them. “But we have time, and I’m a very patient woman.”
She rose and strode toward the door, her spine straight, almost regal, with her pigtails spiraling down her back in tangled glory.
At the threshold, she paused, glancing back. “Think about what I said. We’ll talk again in a week or two.”
A week or two? His molars slammed together, every muscle in his body stiffening to lunge and drag her back. But that was what she wanted. She was baiting him.
He reined in his fear and fought down his anger, blanking his face and maintaining his silence. He gave the bitch nothing, and she gave nothing back.
Except a closed door and inky darkness.
Then the music restarted, striking his ears with a vengeance.
Days passed. A week. Maybe more. The perpetual isolation wore on Cole, his entire world reduced to hot dogs and the same soul-sucking song on repeat.
He kept his mind and body busy with exercise. Push-ups, sit-ups, lunges, running in place—his options were limited in the confined space. He was losing weight at a rapid pace, and his energy and strength suffered for it.
There were moments when he was convinced that electrocution or dismemberment would’ve been better. Every minute in the darkness lasted an eternity, every visit from the guards a plaguing disappointment.
He’d never felt so trapped. Restless. Hungry. Unraveling at the seams. They’d kicked open the gates of hell and unleashed a level of torture that left him hopeless and walking the edge of insanity.
Okay, maybe that was the lyrics of the song in his ears, but he felt it. He was fucking living it.
Nevertheless, each time the door opened, he kept his shit together. He didn’t beg or reveal a trace of emotion. When the guards taunted him, he met their eyes and showed no response.
It required more self-restraint than he thought he was capable. One of these times, he was going to detonate. He could feel himself slipping, losing his hold on his brittle control.
He wanted to kill them all.
The music shut off again, and the door opened to the man he’d met the first night, the one who’d operated the drone. Fuck, that felt like forever ago.
Did his team disappear like he’d ordered? Or were they still in Texas, searching for him?
Locating people was his skill set, not theirs. He was the best at extracting information and siphoning minute details. It took time and patience, but he would eventually elicit what he needed from these assholes and use it to escape. But if they got their hands on his friends, they could manipulate him in ways he didn’t want to imagine.
“We haven’t officially met,” the man said. “My name is Mike.”
The fact that he looked like Bruce Willis wasn’t comforting. Hopefully, Mike would be easier to take down than the action heroes Bruce often portrayed.
“Get dressed.” He tossed a pair of jeans into the cell. “I have a job for you.”
Relief warred with distrust, coursing through him with numbing adrenaline. He wanted to ask how long he’d been here, but it wasn’t an important question. So he saved the words and woodenly shoved his unwashed legs into the jeans.
“Follow me.” Mike ambled toward the factory floor, ignoring the armed guards who stood near the only exit.
Cole followed him out while zipping up his fly. The jeans belonged to him but no longer fit. Even with the button fastened, they sagged, hanging loosely below his hipbones. He’d lost too much weight.
It could be worse. He hadn’t lost blood or limbs or his sanity.
Not yet.
He stood in a massive, rectangular warehouse the length of a football field with concrete floors and brick walls. The rafters soared several stories above, and windows lined the upper half, far too high to reach. Grime coated the glass, obscuring the view of the sky. But sunlight filtered through the smudges, bright and hot, burning his eyes.
Up ahead, Mike waited with his arms relaxed at his sides and a lopsided smile tipping his mouth. That smile couldn’t be trusted, no matter how friendly it appeared.
Cole pulled up his jeans enough to not trip over the dragging cuffs. Then he made his way toward Mike.
Footsteps sounded behind him. Two guards on his trail.
He could disarm one of them and use the weapon to kill them both. Mike didn’t appear to be carrying a gun, so Cole could take him out, too. But what about the three men at the exit? And the other ten beyond the door? Since arriving, he’d counted sixteen altogether, including Lydia. If he started a gunfight, he wouldn’t make it out alive.
“We’re not going far,” Mike said over his shoulder, walking ahead.
Pallets of discarded stones and cracked blocks of granite cluttered the length of the warehouse. Steel siding sealed up the doors at the far end. No way out. So where the hell were they going?