Read Online Finding The Limits (The Limitless Trilogy Book 1) by Harper Cole - Free Book Online
Authors: Harper Cole
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weapons.
Her living room wasn't a bad size, by London standards. There was a rumpled impression in the sofa, and the cushions, and for a moment I could picture her lying there.
I had to clear my head. I crept to the kitchenette, but it was empty - so too the bedroom and the bathroom.
Back in the living room, I stood, baffled. There obviously had been a break-in. Had she been here? Where was she now? Had she run for safety? Where were the police, then?
The police. I pulled out my phone and rang them.
Chapter Nine - Jas
"Motherfucking piece of shit!"
I was hoarse from screaming but I would not stop. I rolled around in the back of the van, kicking at the sides and the rear doors, but it was useless. My cheek hurt from where I'd been punched, and my arms were pinned behind my back, duct tape holding my wrists together firmly.
I'd just gotten out of the shower. I pulled on some baggy sweat pants and a sloppy sweater. I wasn't tired, so I planned on putting on a movie and chilling out for an hour or two. The night was pretty young, yet.
As I had stepped out of my bedroom, running my fingers through my wet hair, the door had blasted open and two large men in black clothing had jumped in. I was screaming right away but one of them just slammed his fist into my face and I hit the deck through shock more than pain - the pain didn't hit me till a moment later.
By then, though, I was face-down on the floor and being trussed up like a turkey.
I couldn't tell one dude from the other; both were thick-set, beefy guys with black coats, black hats, and black jeans. One of them clamped his hand over my mouth so hard I could barely breathe, and certainly couldn't bite him, and he lifted me up as easily as if I'd weighed ten pounds. They carried me right out of my apartment and rode down in the elevator as if this was perfectly normal. What the hell would happen if someone saw us? Would they just knock the witness out? What?
But Sunday night was a dead time around here, and I don't recall that anyone noticed as I was pushed into the back of a low, small white van and the door slammed shut. I kicked frantically but I couldn't pop them open, and then we were moving and there was nothing I could do.
I tried to kick the tail lights out of their housing. I'd heard tales about the cops pulling vehicles over for faulty stop lights, and hoped maybe I'd get lucky. But they were screwed in somehow, and I did nothing but hurt my ankle. I was wearing thin slippers.
By the time the van pulled to a stop, I was shaking with cold and fear and pain, but I was still screaming as loud as I could.
The doors popped open. I had been fantasizing about leaping out and escaping but the reality was that I could not move. One of the beefcakes reached in and hauled me out, lifting me up so that my feet dangled in the air. I kicked and I screamed until he put his hand on my mouth again, and pinched my nose till I could not kick at all.
He let me breath again, and said, "Stop your shite or I'll knock you out, a'right?"
I went limp, and he took that as agreement.
We were on a gravel driveway that led up to a house surrounded by trees; I didn't think we'd driven far out of London but it was hard to tell. The sky was orange from street lights so I knew we were still in urban surroundings. The house was large with many yellow-lit windows, and I was carried into a spacious and opulent hall with a sweeping staircase and marble-looking floors.
I wasn't put down until we entered a huge room that was full of elegant couches, low tables, and sculptures everywhere. It was all red velvet and dark wood, and hissed with money.
My legs wouldn't support me; I buckled and fell to the floor, unable to catch my balance with my hands still behind me. I gathered a huge lungful of air again, preparing to scream, when a door at the far end of the room opened, and a man walked in.
That man.
The one from the car, who had offered me a job.
He smiled when he saw me, as if
Her living room wasn't a bad size, by London standards. There was a rumpled impression in the sofa, and the cushions, and for a moment I could picture her lying there.
I had to clear my head. I crept to the kitchenette, but it was empty - so too the bedroom and the bathroom.
Back in the living room, I stood, baffled. There obviously had been a break-in. Had she been here? Where was she now? Had she run for safety? Where were the police, then?
The police. I pulled out my phone and rang them.
Chapter Nine - Jas
"Motherfucking piece of shit!"
I was hoarse from screaming but I would not stop. I rolled around in the back of the van, kicking at the sides and the rear doors, but it was useless. My cheek hurt from where I'd been punched, and my arms were pinned behind my back, duct tape holding my wrists together firmly.
I'd just gotten out of the shower. I pulled on some baggy sweat pants and a sloppy sweater. I wasn't tired, so I planned on putting on a movie and chilling out for an hour or two. The night was pretty young, yet.
As I had stepped out of my bedroom, running my fingers through my wet hair, the door had blasted open and two large men in black clothing had jumped in. I was screaming right away but one of them just slammed his fist into my face and I hit the deck through shock more than pain - the pain didn't hit me till a moment later.
By then, though, I was face-down on the floor and being trussed up like a turkey.
I couldn't tell one dude from the other; both were thick-set, beefy guys with black coats, black hats, and black jeans. One of them clamped his hand over my mouth so hard I could barely breathe, and certainly couldn't bite him, and he lifted me up as easily as if I'd weighed ten pounds. They carried me right out of my apartment and rode down in the elevator as if this was perfectly normal. What the hell would happen if someone saw us? Would they just knock the witness out? What?
But Sunday night was a dead time around here, and I don't recall that anyone noticed as I was pushed into the back of a low, small white van and the door slammed shut. I kicked frantically but I couldn't pop them open, and then we were moving and there was nothing I could do.
I tried to kick the tail lights out of their housing. I'd heard tales about the cops pulling vehicles over for faulty stop lights, and hoped maybe I'd get lucky. But they were screwed in somehow, and I did nothing but hurt my ankle. I was wearing thin slippers.
By the time the van pulled to a stop, I was shaking with cold and fear and pain, but I was still screaming as loud as I could.
The doors popped open. I had been fantasizing about leaping out and escaping but the reality was that I could not move. One of the beefcakes reached in and hauled me out, lifting me up so that my feet dangled in the air. I kicked and I screamed until he put his hand on my mouth again, and pinched my nose till I could not kick at all.
He let me breath again, and said, "Stop your shite or I'll knock you out, a'right?"
I went limp, and he took that as agreement.
We were on a gravel driveway that led up to a house surrounded by trees; I didn't think we'd driven far out of London but it was hard to tell. The sky was orange from street lights so I knew we were still in urban surroundings. The house was large with many yellow-lit windows, and I was carried into a spacious and opulent hall with a sweeping staircase and marble-looking floors.
I wasn't put down until we entered a huge room that was full of elegant couches, low tables, and sculptures everywhere. It was all red velvet and dark wood, and hissed with money.
My legs wouldn't support me; I buckled and fell to the floor, unable to catch my balance with my hands still behind me. I gathered a huge lungful of air again, preparing to scream, when a door at the far end of the room opened, and a man walked in.
That man.
The one from the car, who had offered me a job.
He smiled when he saw me, as if
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