Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112762 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Sloane leaned into me, palm over my heart. “Call me when you’re ready.”
I nodded and bent to kiss her. The intention was a quick thank-you, but as soon as I touched her, the yawning hunger inside me greedily demanded more. When I eventually released her, Sloane’s cheeks were flushed and she was panting.
“Okay.” She nodded like my kiss had been an answer to a question. Then she squeezed my hand before taking a step back. “I love you.”
The words I’d thought would forever feel forced since Iona’s death came easily. “I love you too.”
She bit her lip against a smile, a habit she had that made me want to drag her into my arms. But she was already walking backward. “Good luck.”
I nodded and gestured to the road. “Please watch where you’re going. I’m rather partial to you as you are, not as roadkill.”
This time, her grin was big and fucking gorgeous. With a wave of her fingers, she turned and waited for traffic to pass before she started across the street. It was then I noticed Monroe waiting at Flora’s with Nox in his pram. I gave her a nod, and she grinned and waved back.
I turned around, striding toward the entrance of the Gloaming, my mind returning to my mum and the conversation I wasn’t sure I would ever be ready to have.
However, just as I wrapped my hand around the door to the pub entrance, a scream rent the air.
“Sloane!”
At Monroe’s shriek, alarm blasted through me in icy heat as I whirled around, already running toward where I’d left her. A blue car idled in the middle of the road outside Flora’s as a man wearing a ski mask hurried into the driver’s seat.
Sloane.
“He took her!” Monroe yelled at me, face red with impotent fury as she guarded Nox’s pram.
No.
Roaring Sloane’s name, I rushed into the street as her panicked, fear-filled face appeared in the back passenger window. She threw herself against it, trying to open it.
“SLOANE!” Rage filled me as I hurried for the front passenger door. The window suddenly rolled down and her masked kidnapper raised his arm. I registered the gun a second before he fired.
The familiar burn slammed into my gut, and my knees buckled.
“WALKER!” I heard Sloane’s terrified scream and pushed through the pain, forcing myself up.
But tires screeched on asphalt as he tore away.
“Walker!” Monroe cried, her body still covering Nox’s pram but her eyes on me as I pressed a hand to the burning agony in my stomach.
“Call the police!” I yelled at her, my eyes on the blue car even as I was running, adrenaline fueling me toward my SUV.
I was vaguely aware of frightened villagers hiding behind vehicles and making frantic calls on their mobile phones as I threw myself into the Range Rover and floored it after the car.
I almost teetered on the turn off Castle Street, but I had to keep going. He’d put too much distance between us. Reaching across the passenger seat, I opened the glove box, ignoring the furious pain in my gut and the feel of blood soaking my shirt and trousers. Sweat dripped into my eyes, and black spots crowded the corners of my vision.
I yanked my gun case out of the glove box and fumbled with one hand to get my thumbprint on the lock. It opened, and I snatched it up with my free hand.
I didn’t know who had taken Sloane or why … but if it was the last thing I did, I’d see her safe.
Feeling the blood flow too fast, too free from the bullet wound, I knew with a sense of yawning regret—because I’d only just found her—that saving her might really be the last thing I ever did.
SLOANE
Fear had stolen my rational thinking.
One second, I’d been stepping onto the sidewalk, beaming at Monroe, excited to see her, and the next thing, a stranger in a ski mask had pulled up beside me, pressed a gun to my head, and forced me into his car.
Then he’d shot Walker.
Walker was shot.
“He’s a determined bastard!” my attacker spat.
The familiarity of his voice … I knew that voice. He was American. His words registered too.
Walker.
Blood rushed in my ears as I turned around and peered through the back window. Relief flooded me at the sight of Walker’s Range Rover in the distance, but catching up. Fast.
I whirled, trying to think how to distract the gunman. “Who are you? I know you, don’t I?”
“Shut the fuck up!” His aggression reminded me so much of Nathan.
No way.
This wasn’t happening again.
And he’d shot Walker!
Glancing back, I saw Walker gaining on us.
Sliding along the back seat, I ignored the masked man’s orders to stay where he could see me, and then I lunged, wrapping my arm around his throat and hauling him back against the driver’s seat to choke him.