Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 100545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
It was time to run, and fast.
He assessed the corridor and the open window at the end. In the dead of night, he’d have a chance to get away, hide and outsmart these men. They all had masks on, so if he managed to flee, they would have no reason to put much effort into chasing him down, their identities were protected either way.
Clinging to this scrap of hope, he followed Tank’s lead down the creaking stairs, flinching each time the other cuff dropped from a step behind him, tugged along like yet another prisoner. The fourth man was tall yet leaner beneath all the layers of protective clothing. Where Tank was dangerous due to his sheer size, this guy’s muscle was tightly packed under the skin, like a puma’s. His eyes—polished onyx—followed Clover, as if he were expecting a stealthy attack.
“This is bad news. You already let the woman go.”
Tank scowled and pushed Clover past the others. “He won’t know who we are anyway.”
With the men all talking about Clover as if he were yet another piece of merchandise they had to deal with, the hope for this ordeal to end fast was dwindling, and while Clover had expected Riggs was dead when he first heard the shots, seeing him lying lifelessly on the floor was a different thing altogether.
This would be Clover’s one opportunity to create diversion.
He screeched and feigned being too weak to stand on his own by grabbing at Tank’s arm. “Oh, my god! Is he d-dead?” He forced his breathing to quicken. This trick never got old, and what didn’t work on Riggs could now be his ticket out of here. Within seconds, he had his brain worked up, and stumbled to his knees, clutching at his neck with one hand.
Tank muttered a curse and dragged him back to his feet with such ease he might have carried Clover all day without so much as breaking a sweat. The sheer power in those arms made Clover’s mind stray to less savory thoughts, but the moment his new captor pulled him through the threshold and into the fragrant air, only one voice was left screaming inside Clover’s mind. He needed to run.
He stumbled to the dirt, catching gulps of fresh air and clutching at the sand. Tank’s voice came muted, as if he were still inside, talking to the others.
“He’s fine!”
Clover took that second of distraction as his cue, and shot up, launching himself forward. His bare soles hit the dry ground at breakneck speed, propelling him toward the darkest shade of black he could spot. If he ran far enough, hid behind something for long enough, he’d stand a chance.
The desert sand was cool against his skin, but the change of illumination was too great, and when something broke under his weight, digging into the sensitive flesh of his sole, his balance was thrown off so much he toppled over and rolled into a dry shrub.
Sand landed in his mouth, nose, the grains pressing into skin as if they meant to mark him forever. He attempted to get up and continue toward the solid shape of a hill standing against the dark sky, but a massive body that smelled of gunpowder and fresh cologne squashed him to the ground.
Clover tried to rip himself away, cried for help, struggled, but it was game over, and he wouldn’t get another chance. When he managed to spin around under Tank, he clawed at the man’s face in hope of pressing his fingers into the eyes, but Tank pulled back with frustrated growl… leaving Clover with the ski mask in his hands.
For a few seconds, they stared at each other in the darkness only barely illuminated by lights from the house.
This was bad.
Real bad.
The dark eyes narrowed, and the fact that Tank had turned out to be very handsome under the balaclava wasn’t helping Clover’s cause. Square-jawed, with a crew cut and a large nose, he looked like the hero of an action movie. Which would have been a great thing if he were on Clover’s side, but Clover’s attempt to escape had taken that off the table.
“I… um…” Clover helplessly pressed the mask to Tank’s face, but they both knew it was too late.
Tank took a deep breath that expanded his massive chest farther, and grabbed Clover’s shoulder to haul him up. This time, he didn’t leave anything to chance. Clover’s world spun, as if he were a dirty rag thrown into the washing machine, and when it finally stabilized, he was hanging over Tank’s shoulder and staring at the muscular curve of his ass.
“Congratulations, boy. Now we really can’t just let you go.”
“Fuck.”
Wait. Did he say that out loud? Fuck indeed.
Tank snorted and patted Clover’s thigh as if that was supposed to help.
Chapter 3 – Clover
Tank’s heavy arm over Clover’s shoulders was like an anchor keeping him in a seated position, even if there was no reason for this, since Tank had used keys found on Riggs to cuff Clover’s wrist to his ankle, and the chain was too short to allow running. Or walking for that matter, which had been made clear when Tank had got tired of watching Clover tiptoe while bent over and carried him to the van as if Clover wasn’t heavier than a cat.