Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Thought too soon.
Behind me, snarls began. Sharp and vicious. The primal dogs were onto me.
Fear cut against my chest like knives, but I didn’t feel it. Not really. What I felt was movement. My achy feet slammed against the ground faster than before, lungs burning. As the dogs neared, I wondered how to get around the garden that blocked my path to the gate.
The long way?
Straight through?
My heartbeat resembled the rhythmic thud of war drums, a sound I pictured escaped enslaved people hearing as they fled plantations. My legs pumped harder. That Russian wouldn’t trade me to another buyer.
Another monster.
Gunfire cracked the night, and someone’s scream became a momentary reprieve to the dogs barking. Man, I hated these dogs.
Instead of running around the hedge-lined garden, which would take too much time, I crashed through the hedgerow. Branches clawed my skin. Somewhere behind, bullets continued to go off, and a Russian shouted—Elrick, maybe? A shot cracked the air. Dang, if it was him, he’d recovered his sight.
“Stäp!” The Russian ordered. Another shot echoed. Dirt and lilac hedges exploded near my hip. Purple flower petals flew into the air.
The barked yelp sounded near, telling me the dogs had cleared the same hedges without a break in their speed. I dove toward a fallen garden rake and spun onto my rear, with the sharp tines near my feet planted upward. I grabbed the old steel tool as a dog lunged toward my face. His muscles bulged, mouth in a snarl. I shifted the tip of the garden rake at an angle. Eat that! You piece of crap.
Because of the Siberian Lika’s momentum, the dog impaled himself onto the brackets of the rake. The end of the handle skidded into the dirt, halting the dog’s progress. As he whimpered, the other dog spun on his heels and shifted away from me. He yelped for the other animal.
Listening to his whimpers, I remembered Katlego’s dog. Sweet girl. But these weren’t dogs; these were demons in disguise. The rake seemed stuck in the dirt, and the other end impaled against the dog’s mouth. I struggled to wriggle it free. That caught the attention of its companion.
A low, throaty growl came my way.
“Gimme a second,” I snapped. I’d offer this hound from hell the same love. Just needed to free my weapon from Wolverine One. Number Two, finding his courage, crouched low.
Oh, no!
He jetted into midair.
A bullet dropped Wolverine Two, and he rolled from the force of it. Crack. Crack. The dog’s large body jerked against a lilac hedge, the sinews and muscles straining and twitching.
“Just die.” I croaked and then sank onto the ground, overcome by a fresh wave of tears. Get up, Jordy. That was an accident. Get your stupid behind—
The man who shot him stopped running. Taller than life, he strode over with purpose. Well, that made sense. He could shoot a moving target—that dog—while also running. Now, he’d heighten my anxiety with his leisurely approach. I wanted to curl into a ball and surrender, but my eyes searched him as he moved toward me slowly. Tall. Broad. Covered in blood and some sort of ash. His hair, long, straggly. Blond? Maybe. Red from blood? Definitely.
Eyes like storm clouds scanned me, then softened when landing on my own.
He took a step toward me, crouched, and his hand cupped my cheek.
My mouth quivered uncontrollably. This couldn’t be. I’d imagined this moment until the daydream twisted into an ugly nightmare, and the boy who vowed to save me became my worst enemy. Worse than Aleksandr, Rocket, any man who laid a finger on me. Despite my trembling and disbelief at what I saw, a name croaked from my quivering lips. “Jamie?” No, Jordy. It’s not him. It’s Ro—
“Yes.” His voice, no longer squeaky, high-pitched, or innocent, now resonated with a rich baritone, its Scottish accent barely audible beneath the urgency. Jamie swiped the red stickiness from his sharp cheeks and chiseled square jaw, then reached down a hand. “It’s time for you to come home now, Jordyn.”
6
TARZANA HILLS
Jamie
“Jordyn. No, wait!” My legs buckled, knees hitting the dirt, and I reached for my privates. Instead of taking my hand, she’d punched me. Slugged me. Hard. Scampered to her feet and over the other hedge into the dark of night.
I dropped on my haunches, struggling to catch a decent breath. My hands—sticky with other men’s blood—shook as I dragged them across my face. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. What the heck was wrong with me? I’d scared her away! No, wait. Jordyn remembered me.
And she hated me for it. After all these years—twenty-four to be exact—I’d left her in that hell, and she hadn’t forgotten. Of course, she hadn’t. Why would she? I should’ve led with an apology. Begged for her forgiveness the second our eyes met.
But I hadn’t. I’d been shocked. She was here. In the flesh. Mission successful. Almost.