Knifepoint Read Online Free PDF

sunlight. My head swims at the scene I’m witnessing. Fear stabs at me again and I push it away. I have to stay calm. I can’t give him what he wants.
    As he pummels the phone against the rock, time suspends itself. I think about my life in clips, like a PowerPoint slideshow. Mum. Dad. Tyler. School.
    My friends. Tasha telling me I was crazy to come and work in the country.
    Hannah telling me I should lie about my age and work with them at the nightclub instead.
    â€œC’mon, Jill-O,” she had said. “It’s easy money. Guys love the shooter girls.
    You’ll make huge tips.”
    But I had shaken my head. “No thanks,” I’d said. “I don’t want to be groped on a nightly basis by drunken idiots.”
    Jeez, Jill. I guess you’ d rather be groped by a crazy knife-wielding sociopath instead.
    I can’t help myself. At this last thought, I break into deep, braying laughter.
    Abruptly Darren freezes. His eyes narrow. I stop laughing. He throws the hollow shell of the phone aside. Bends over. Lifts the leg of his jeans. He’s going for his knife.
    Suddenly the fear returns, sharp and hot. It joins my focus, giving me desperate strength.
    Without thinking, I swing my leg back and drive the pointed toe of my boot forward as hard as I can. Into his face. I hear a crunch, followed by a wet sucking sound.
    Darren roars in pain. He falls forward, on his knees, the knife temporarily forgotten. Splinters of white teeth drop from his bloodied mouth.
    Wow. That was amazing. I did that?
    Darren looks up at me, surprised, like I’ve betrayed him. His face is a wet red mess. My stomach heaves.
    I turn and grab Whiskey’s saddle horn. I swing up as Darren lurches to his feet, one hand clamped against his mouth. My feet just find the stirrups as he grabs for my leg with his other hand.
    Frantically I shake him off and pound Whiskey with my heels. She pitches forward. Away from the bleeding, staggering fiend beside us.
    Darren roars again. He snatches at Whiskey’s tail. I hammer on her flanks.
    And just like that, we’re away. My heart swells up, a balloon filling my entire body with relief. My breath squeaks through the narrow opening in my throat. We’re good, we’re good, we’re good, we’re good. The sound bite skips in my head, over and over and over.
    Then the saddle slips.

Chapter Eight
    Not much. Just a bit. And with it, my heart gives a sudden lurch and lands in my stomach. I forgot that I had loosened off Whiskey’s saddle. How could I forget?
    Well, really. It’s not like I could’ve stood there and tightened up her cinch while Darren-the-wacko was smashing my lifeline to smithereens. There wasn’t time.
    I feel the saddle slip again, and I yank myself in the other direction. I might be able to keep it straight just by jerking it back into place every time it slips. Darren’s outraged shouts follow us as we plunge down the trail. He’s fast, for a guy who’s just had his face rearranged. Not as fast as the horse.
    But if I fall off… The saddle slips again, and a blast of adrenaline rockets through my body.
    My mind races, flipping through choices like a stack of cards. I could slow to a walk and try to yank the saddle back into place. But Darren might catch up—and the saddle would still be loose, besides. Or I could quickly dismount, tighten the cinch and jump back on before Darren catches me. Right. With these shaking fingers? Or…I could just see how far I can go with a loose cinch.
    Maybe— Without warning, the saddle slides clean around Whiskey’s barrel, taking me with it. On my way down, I grab for her mane and halter. Small bushes whip my face as I find myself suddenly at ground level. I duck and shut my eyes.
    My grabbing arms pull Whiskey’s head to the side. Fists full of mane and rope, I heave and scramble up onto her back.
    But she’s not having any of it. Like any horse,