Page 109 of Pack of Crooks
“They’re coming in a few hours.”
“Which means,” another voice whispers. “We have plenty of time to play.”
“This is insane.”
Kill hums in agreement. “Tick-tock, omega. You’re running out of time.”
“You already started?”
“Two minutes and forty-five seconds, two minutes and forty-four?—”
Gasping, I spin around, press in the passcode, yank the door open and run for their office, not bothering to look back. My heart slams against my ribcage, hands trembling as I slip through their open door and dash for the one I’d somehow missed all the times I’d been here before. Darkness greets me, and I take a steadying breath, pulse thundering, and let it engulf me.
The door snaps shut behind me. Breathing heavy, I look left and right. There’s a few small lights dotted about, barely illuminating the large space. The rest of the old factory. I can clearly make out the support posts and obstacles that would otherwise hurt me, but still, it’s dark in here.
Move your ass!
I cut left, jogging along the length of the room, checking for a good spot to hide or places to run to in case they catch me, and then run across the room. Fuck, fuck. How much time do I have left? I duck behind a cluster of barrels, but that feels stupid—too open—so I bolt for a stack of pallets. There’s just enough space between them and the wall to squeeze in and catch my breath, panting as I rest my back against the wall.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to keep my heart contained. Jesus Christ. My muscles are shaky, but I’m notscared. . . I’m obnoxiously excited at the thought of them chasing me. There’s definitely something wrong with me. Maybe it’s all those times I had to run away from angry alpha drug dealers or cops. It rewired my brain. Made me an adrenaline junky or something.
There’s a soft thud and I press my hand to my mouth to keep from making noise, breathing through my nose and straining to listen for their footsteps. Thirty seconds pass. Nothing. There’s no sound. Are these guys fucking ninjas? I have to hold my post. If I step out now and they’re even close to where I am, the game is over.
Breathing deep, I tip my head, listening over the thudding of my heart. A soft brush of material and shoes scuffing over concrete. There! Close enough to make me inch toward the other side of the pallets, muscles tightening and ready to run if needed. Breathing evenly, I drop my hand and steady myself against the wall, listening intently.
“Here kitty, kitty,” a rough voice sing-songs way too close for comfort.
My heart skips.Maddox. Fuck. If he catches me, I’m definitely screwed. He’s so strong.
Silence follows his little taunting song, and I pinch my eyebrows together, straining to hear his movements, but it’s dead quiet.
Until a finger brushes down my spine.
Screeching, I run out from behind the pallets, sprinting to the right side of the room.
“Gotcha,” Maddox growls.
No you fucking don’t.
Head on a swivel, I look for the other men, but they must be on the other side of the room. A smile cuts across my face and I run faster, moving around a support post, intent on finding anew place to hide. I realize too late that I can’t hear Maddox’s footsteps following me.
That means?—
“Oh shit!” I scream as a blue and red mask comes at me from either side of the warehouse. “Shit, shit, shit,” slowing, I pivot and run the other direction, but Maddox is closing in from that side. Steps pound after me. My pulse sky rockets. I run straight at Maddox, veering far to the left at the last second, barely escaping his reach, and put distance and darkness between us.
The warehouse is huge, full of hiding spots. I take the second one I find—behind the barrels I nearly chose before—squatting low and trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Every part of my body is electrified, endorphins sliding through my veins in a heady rush.
I wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
The pack doesn’t come.
Where did they go?
Maybe I should peek.
