Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Dad takes my hand and drags me down the hallway. It’s like my feet don’t want to cooperate, my footsteps trying to redirect and rush out there, to help my man, or die with him if it comes to that. No, no, that’s craziness, but there’s this swelling deep within, as if ancient signals in my body are screaming at me to get out there, yelling that I belong with him, nowhere else.
Dad leads me to the rear of the property and opens the basement door. We walk down a flight of stairs to a large, reinforced metal door in the corner. Luke and Dad disappeared when we first arrived, so I guess he was showing Dad the safe room.
“What happens if Luke…”
I can’t even say it or think about it after what he just told me. Other women might be offended. He says he owns me. I belong to him. I want him to own me. I want to belong to him.
Dad hurries me into the safe room. There are two bunk beds, rows and rows of shelves with tinned goods, and a small door at the back, presumably the toilet. Dad shuts the heavy door and locks it with a clunk noise.
“Dad,” I hiss. “What happens if—”
“I don’t know,” Dad snaps, spinning on me. “He told me to get you safe, so I got you safe. I don’t know what happens if those bastards kill Luke.”
I drop onto the bunk bed, a hollow feeling inside of me, folding my arms and trying not to think about the prospect of losing him before I even told him I feel the same.
“We’ll be okay,” Dad says, sitting next to me and taking my hand.
“It’s not us I’m worried about,” I hiss. “It’s Luke. He’s a good man and…”
My voice has too much affection in it, too much love. Is that possible?
“He’ll be okay,” Dad says softly.
I remember his promise. To protect me and our family.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Luke
It’s difficult to focus as I stalk through the forest, heading to the sensor that gave off the alert. I’ve got a rifle in my hands, but I keep my head up to give me a view of the surrounding area. It could be a deer, larger wildlife, or it could be the mob, somehow tracking me down.
My heart thumps when I think of Violet, of everything I shared without even meaning to. It just spilled out, wave after wave of need and compulsion.
Stop, I roar in my mind. Focus. None of that will matter if I let a lack of concentration get me killed. Who will protect my woman then? Who will deal with that Reginald bastard?
I bring peace to my mind when I hear movement up ahead, footsteps shifting through the forest.
“Reckon this is the place?”
A low voice with an East Coast twang, the sort of voice I’ve heard countless times during my work. It’s definitely a mob guy.
Crouching low, I hug close to a large tree trunk and look down my rifle’s sights.
There are four of them, not dressed for the forest, in their leather jackets and shiny shoes. The man at the front is wearing a crimson-colored jacket, as if he’s expecting to be shot and blood to seep into the material.
“Only one we know of,” he says, addressing a man to his left, taller with a shaggy mop of black hair.
“He could have more than one,” the shaggy-haired man says.
Their voices carry as they get closer, within ten feet now, talking too loudly for the circumstances, but they don’t know they’ve triggered the alarm. The sensor they tripped was far out, meaning they wouldn’t have heard it.
They think they’re going to creep up on us, kick the door in… and kill me. Kill Andrew. Kill Violet.
I move quietly, stalking a circle around them as I keep my rifle primed, ready to fire and execute them all if I need to. If it comes to it, I’ll kill every single one of them, add them to the list I keep buried deep within, another shade to the darkness.
If I can end this without blood, I will. Is that Violet’s influence, her light shining on some of the dark, her goodness pushing against some of the bad?
I stalk around until I’m behind them, approaching cautiously, the men still talking but in lower voices now. Reaching into my pocket, I take out a flashbang grenade.
These men are amateurs. That’s nothing new with many of the mob guys. They’re used to kicking in doors and shaking people down for collection money. They’re used to people being scared, give up straight away, and never stop to think about putting up a fight.
I follow them until they stop at the edge of the forest, at the clearing which leads to the overgrown garden, the pond, and the safe house. I have no clue how they learned about this safe house and not the others. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is keeping my woman safe. All that matters is what I told her, the vision of the future I unleashed on her. She didn’t tell me she felt the same. Does she?