Extraction Point (Ricochet #3) Read Online Free PDF

too-big gloves onto her right hand. Quinn took the glass shard from the bottom of the box and clutched it tight in her gloved fist.
    She crept towards the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. Carefully, Quinn peeked around the corner. Travis was still asleep. Quinn closed her eyes for a moment, saying a quick prayer that she would get out of the house in one piece.
    Her heart racing in her chest, she gripped her weapon as she tiptoed to her husband’s side of the bed, holding it up high, ready to use if he woke up. With a gloved finger, Quinn gently tugged on the top drawer of his nightstand. It opened without a sound, making her thankful for having the foresight to give the metal slides a good spray down with WD40 last week.
    Quinn easily spotted the small key to the safe in the front of the drawer. He didn’t bother to hide it, assuming she would never have the guts to try and swipe it while he was in the house.
    Think again, jerk.
    She held the key in her left hand, the glass shard still ready to strike out in her right. Once she was safely in the hall, Quinn let out a long, shaky breath, pressing the back of her gloved hand to her thumping chest. At this rate, she’d have a heart attack before she could even get out of the house.
    Scared that Travis could jump out at any second, Quinn hurried to the kitchen to get the final item needed to make her escape. The lockbox on top of the fridge was heavier than she expected, due to the weight of Travis’s firearm. It took three tries for Quinn to hold her hand steady long enough to get the key in the lock.
    Once open, she snatched up the keys to Travis’s blue Chevy Silverado and went to put the box back. Hesitating, Quinn stared at the handgun, wondering if she should take it. It smelled strong— oily and pungent. Her nose wrinkled up. Sneaking away from her abusive husband was one thing, stealing an officer’s sidearm was another. Plus, she had no experience with guns and would probably end up shooting herself. With trembling hands, Quinn left the gun, locked the box and put it back in its place.
    “You little bitch.”
    Quinn squealed, spinning around to find Travis in the kitchen, only a few feet away. She kept her hand behind her back, clutching the glass in her fist.
    I should have taken the gun.
    “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was a deep growl that sank into Quinn’s heart, making it falter.
    “N-nothing. I-I was just—”
    “Shut up you lying slut!”
    Travis stepped forward and Quinn raised her hand, done with being his personal punching bag. She brought the glass down fast and even, slicing through soft flesh easily from the end of his brow, down one side of his face to the bottom of his jawline.
    Travis roared in pain and disbelief, clutching at his face. He screamed as blood gushed from the wound through his fingers. Quinn almost lost her stomach from the sight of it. He flailed, the blood completely obscuring his vision on the side she cut.
    “I’m gonna kill you! You’re dead, Annie! You hear me!
    The threat snapped Quinn out of her terrified daze, sending her running for the door. Her feet slipped in the pool of blood, nearly sending her to the ground. Scrabbling to keep her footing, she grabbed onto the doorknob for balance. Quinn took one last look over her shoulder at her husband, blood covering him from scalp to chin, and ran.
    Still able to hear Travis’s shouts, Quinn hurried to the large garbage bin outside, removing a trash bag she had stashed there filled with some clothes and other essentials. She chucked it into the front seat of the truck and hopped into the driver’s seat next to it. The huge truck roared to life when she turned the key in the ignition, drowning out the sounds of Travis’ fury that were still coming from the house.
    Quinn threw the truck in reverse and peeled out of the dusty driveway. As the house got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, her pulse began to calm down and she smiled. She did it.