H1889 020 Novels & Stories

No one patrols those woods and we used to play in them as kids, so I know them well. Hopping out of the car, I reach down, slip my hoodie over my head and zip it up. Luckily, it's black and will help me blend into the shadows. Before I break into the main house and play hero, I'm going to sneak into my place first. My Glock 19 is locked up in a safe and I'm going to get it. Just in case. I don't care for surprises and I like to be prepared. I'm also not stupid. Who knows what or who I might run up against? Going in without a weapon isn't smart.

HELOOOOOO there here comes another chapter of 18 to 80 I hope you like it. Do pop a vote. hehe have a good day.

The only sounds she could hear were the ones of the cold breeze blowing away and the ticking sound of the wristwatch strapped around her wrist, then that of her wildly beating heart. She sneaked a glance at the light, illuminating from the wristwatch to see the time when Chase's voice boomed through her ears from the hearing device. “Two minutes thirty-two seconds, Gattina. You have less than two minutes, and you're nowhere close to leaving my estate," {"Kitten"} Sophia's panicked eyes searched for any sign of anybody watching her to maybe report to Chase but found no one.

I need to call Lesley. . . . . . . . Vote and comment Thanks for reading ❤️

Once the suit was on, he pulled out these things that looked like suction cups from this black box that was on the foot of the bed. I didn't even notice that he grabbed that box from somewhere! It must have been under the bed because I didn't even feel him get off the bed at any point. Then he pops these small cups into these holes where my nipples are. I felt the suction cups were a bit slippery. I think he put lube on them. These cups were attached to the black box by a long black cord. He then grabbed a long black thick cylinder from that same box. It was also attached to the box by a long black cord.

It looks like junk left to rot. I kneel beside it, tearing away the frozen overgrowth. The rust flakes off under my gloves, revealing the steel hatch beneath. Manual lock. A heavy combination dial that feels stiff with cold. I pull out my phone, shielding the screen’s glow. The code Isla showed me from her mother’s letter. 42-18-88. I grip the dial. It grinds, metal on metal. Right to 42. Left to 18. Right to 88. The internal tumblers catch with a heavy click. The hatch releases, popping up an inch.