Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Finding new confidence, I hold my head high and swipe my access card before pushing my way through the heavy doors. I’m not a scared little bitch. I’m a badass forensic pathologist . . . almost. Shit like this shouldn’t get to me. I’m a woman of science, and I don’t let a strange little shiver down my spine send me running for the hills; I’m better than that. Besides, if my mind wants to play games on me, then I can play right back. I don’t exactly know how I’m supposed to do that, but there’s nothing I love more than petty games.
The heavy door falls closed behind me with a loud thud, and the sound of the automatic lock clicking into place goes a long way to reassure me that I’m not going crazy. I just had a moment of weakness, but now that it has passed, I can get back to work being the boss bitch I’ve always intended to be.
Striding through the chilled morgue, I approach my desk while trying to remember where the hell I left my speaker, when something from the corner of my eye catches my attention. My brows furrow, and I turn while slowing my pace to an abrupt standstill.
My heart lurches into a fierce race as I stare across the massive room at the single black rose that lies in the center of my autopsy table.
What in the ever-loving fuck? This isn’t possible.
The door was locked. Nobody was in here. I checked it before I peed. There’s no way that rose could have found its way onto that table.
Unless . . . I was wrong.
This isn’t just some bullshit my head has conjured due to a lack of music while writing up reports. I’m not going insane. The chills down my spine were real. The gut feeling was real. The fear was all fucking real.
There was somebody watching me, somebody inside the morgue with me.
The black rose stares back at me like a wretched taunt, and as a million thoughts and fears spiral through my mind like a wild tornado, I realize that gifting me a black rose is going to be the last thing that some fucked-up stalker is going to want with me.
I’ve seen this game play out a million times before. I’ve seen the women who wind up on my table. I’ve seen the sick way they’re preyed upon. That can’t be me. I won’t allow it. Then without a moment of hesitation, I nope the fuck out of there, running faster than my feet can possibly take me.
What if this person never left? What if they’re still here, watching and waiting to put my cold, dead body on this very autopsy table?
Hell fucking no. That won’t be me.
My feet pound one after another, only just reaching my bag in the nick of time. My timing is impeccable as I scoop it up, not bothering to check if everything is packed inside. If I leave something behind, then I wish it all the best in its future endeavors, but it’ll be a cold day in hell when I stop and go back for something as trivial as my water bottle or the pack of gum that usually resides at the bottom of my bag.
With my belongings intact, I bolt for the door, the panic surging inside of me like a torrential storm. My hand automatically reaches for my access card on my hip, frantically trying to swipe it to get the fuck out of here as my terrified gaze risks a glance behind me, desperately searching the wide-open space but coming up empty.
My movements are too shaky, and I have to swipe my access card three more times before the little red light turns green and I hear the familiar sound of the automatic door unlocking. Certain that somebody is about to come after me at any given second, I yank the door open and fly through it, clipping my shoulder on the metal edge in the process.
“Ahh fuck!”
Pain surges through my shoulder, but I push through it. I’m sure that’s going to hurt come morning, but right now, I couldn’t care less. All that matters is getting the hell out of here.
My feet are thunderous in the empty hallways, but I push myself faster, desperate to get out of the basement. Then as I reach the elevator, my chest constricts with fear. Do I stand here like a fucking idiot, waiting for this mystery rose gifter to catch up to me as I twiddle my thumbs, waiting for the elevator to ding with its arrival, or do I take an even bigger risk and enclose myself in the stairs? I’d only have to sprint up three flights. How long could it possibly take?
Fuck. Stairs it is.
I know it’s stupid, but I can’t just stand here waiting. I have to keep moving.