Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
It didn’t slow. The gunfire didn’t stop.
I kept shooting, firing off three more rounds and killing at least two men.
Still, the gunfire didn’t stop.
Something was wrong.
She was out the door, circling toward them from the side of the cabin.
They shouldn’t be firing.
They should still have their guns up, shooting at anyone who got near her, but not like this.
They weren’t here to rescue her. They did not give a fuck about her safety or well-being.
Shit.
“Zoya,” I shouted as I launched out of the doorway toward the cover of a nearby tree, but she was already too far ahead, closing the distance between herself and them.
I saw it.
The flicker of hesitation, the crack in her resolve.
She was too close to them. Her steps faltered, and then she froze in place.
She turned her head toward me.
The light was bright, obscuring most of her face.
All I could see was the brilliant green of her eyes as they filled with horror.
She knew.
It took leaving the safety of the cabin, the safety of my protection, but now she realized the truth.
She knew this wasn’t a rescue. It was an execution.
These weren’t her men—not anymore.
“Roman,” she screamed. Her voice was raw, filled with something I didn’t want to name, something desperate that tore at my gut.
My mind was already racing, calculating, trying to find the angles to take a shot. But the man closest to pulled her into a chokehold and held her as a human shield.
Mateo.
He was going to die. Slowly.
The glare was still too much. I couldn’t get a clean shot off that didn’t risk her life. I would never risk her life. Even if I was willing, I couldn’t do it.
Even if I was sure I wouldn’t hit her, my finger would not pull the trigger.
The risk was too high.
And that was my fault, too. I shouldn’t have had any hesitation.
If she were anyone else, I would have shot Mateo through her, in a place that would kill him but only injure her.
Through her arm and into his heart or something.
If she were anyone else, I’d risk her life and kill him, then drag her back into the cabin by her goddamn hair and finally get the answers I should have gotten hours ago. She would slowly bleed and I would kill her men in front of her.
But Zoya was different.
I pushed forward, leaving my cover as I fired at the other men surrounding them.
I may not have been able to hit Mateo, but I could take out a few of his men while I tried to get closer.
A sharp, searing pain tore through my shoulder, sending me crashing to the ground.
Mateo was using a large caliber firearm, and the force was enough to knock the wind out of me, but I got up, crawling to my knees and then stumbling to my feet.
For her, I pushed through the agony and forced my vision to focus as I got to new cover.
In a haze of pain, I caught sight of the doors of one of the SUVs being thrown open.
Zoya was shoved inside, kicking and screaming the whole way.
My brave little warrior fought with everything she had, and I was so proud of her.
I fired my gun a few more times, not sure I hit anything. My vision blurred at the edges, but I fought the draw of darkness.
Cold, quiet darkness. It called to me, like my mother's voice, beckoning me home.
Blood poured from my wound, hot and wet, staining my shirt. The familiar smell of iron filled my nose, and the taste of copper filled my mouth, but I didn’t care.
All I cared about was her.
I needed to get to her. If it cost me my life, then so fucking be it. I hadn’t felt alive in so long, anyway.
The SUV roared as they gunned the engine, the tires screeching against the pavement as they sped off into the night down the long, winding driveway, back toward the private dirt road leading out of here.
It was getting harder to see. The edges of my vision were turning black, but I couldn’t look away. Not yet.
Zoya needed me.
I moved as fast as I could, flanking the other men. Once I was further around the side, so the headlights were not blinding me, I killed them.
Even injured, I was efficient. One bullet per man, one fast-pass ticket to hell for each of them.
Zoya needed me. She needed me to save her.
I fired again, over and over, until they were all dead and then I ran to one of the idling SUVs, throwing it into gear and following the fucking SUV that held my woman.
Mine.
I claimed her. By right.
She was mine.
Even if that meant I was going to keep her chained to that goddamn chair for the rest of her life.
The pain in my left shoulder fueled me. Every time I blinked, I saw her. I saw her run from me, and then I saw the fear in her eyes. I was going to enjoy punishing her when I had her back.