Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“No,” he spits back, defiance blazing in his eyes.
“Give me your goddamn phone!” My voice is pure fury.
Emotions flit through his eyes—shock, fear, uncertainty. Stiffly, he digs into his pocket and shoves the phone into my chest.
“All this for pussy?” he sneers. “She wasn’t even that good.”
I shove Noah aside, my grip faltering as I punch in his passcode and swipe to his texts. My breath hitches when I see Vince hasn’t replied.
“Fuck!” I hiss under my breath, redialing Vince’s number. Straight to voicemail. Dammit.
Turning my back on Noah, I grab my own phone and speed-dial Craig. “I need you to trace a number,” I snap, rattling off Georgia’s phone number. “Do it now. While I’m on the phone.”
The seconds stretch as I pace, my chest tight with dread.
“Satellite shows it’s about seven miles from you,” Craig says finally.
“Where?” I ask, desperate.
“Pulling it up now. She’s moving. Wait. Got it. The red light camera footage from the light on Westin Avenue and Fields—she’s in a car. Black sedan. Heading north.”
“Who’s she with?” I bark, gripping the phone like a lifeline.
“I can’t tell.”
I hear a car horn outside, which makes me jump. “Can you see the license plate?” I ask urgently. As I rush toward the door. The honking continues relentlessly as I fling it open. Standing beside the driver’s side, a kid meets my glare. “What the fuck do you want?” I snap.
He raises his hands defensively. “Hey, someone called for an Uber. I’ll wait five minutes before I charge.”
My stomach twists into knots. “Craig, that license plate—who’s it registered to?”
Before he can finish, the kid adds, “Are you taking the ride or what? ’Cause—”
I cut him off, my tone clipped. “What’s the name on the request?”
The kid glances at his phone. “Georgia Price.”
My voice cracks. “Craig—”
I can barely process the next words as he answers, “Veronica Hallstead.”
The name barely registers before I’m bolting toward my car. “Track that sedan. Don’t lose its location, and if they stop, send me the address.” I end the call and sprint to my vehicle, sliding into the driver’s seat with my hands still unsteady. Immediately, I fire up the navigation system and enter in the direction they’re headed. Every second feels critical as I brace myself for whatever comes next.
Chapter twenty-eight
Georgia
Istare out the window, trying to remember a time when life wasn’t royally fucked up. I latch on to a memory of my dad and me at the park when I was five. We were the only house in the neighborhood without a swing set, and I begged him to take me. I close my eyes, remembering that day, as if I can still feel the sun on my cheeks. My dad pushed me so high I felt like I was flying. He laughed, saying I was practically touching the sky. I remember seeing birds soar by while I exclaimed, “I’m flying! I’m flying!” It felt so freeing, as if nothing could hold me down. I laughed and laughed, my heart racing with an adrenaline that made me feel invincible. I’ll never forget the way his laughter wrapped around me like a warm blanket while I kept yelling for him to push me higher and higher.
“You’re going to fly away if I push you any higher, Georgie,” he said, but still, he pushed harder, and I soared into the sky. That was the best moment of my small life. But even then, I knew how to ruin a good thing. I finally got the courage to see if I could fly and jumped mid-air, kicking my legs and flapping my feet, but gravity had other plans. I came crashing down, arms outstretched to stop the fall and ended up breaking my arm.
The joy quickly turned to excruciating pain and fear as I looked down to see my bone sticking out. I remember crying while my dad scooped me up and ran the entire three blocks home. After a long visit to the ER and a brand-new bright pink cast, we came home, and I was immediately sent to my room. The pain was nothing in comparison to their argument through the wall—my mom blaming him for not being more responsible and her concerns about how they would pay the medical bills. I promised myself I would never be that reckless again, but it didn’t matter since my dad never took me back to the park.
My life has been nothing but a series of disappointments—a string of unfortunate events, each adding to the weight of my pathetic existence. I wipe away my tears as Noah’s words echo in my mind. “Maybe a beating from your stepdaddy is exactly what you deserve.” Maybe he’s right. Because I’m not a good person. I hurt people, too.
The city lights blur by as we drive. I glance over, noticing the unexpected direction of our route, and then it hits me; we’re headed in the wrong direction. “Excuse me, I think you missed a turn.”