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)
I snorted a laugh. “Then I turned my own worst nightmare—abduction at a playground—into Willow’s reality. During the night, Willow woke up, belly swollen, and saw me constructing the playground. She’d been frightened. I’d frightened her.”
A memory flashed—of a man hiding in a jungle gym castle at the park, back when I was still too young to understand what it meant. The second that man grabbed me and ran from the playground, I understood, though.
“Listen, don’t be hard on Jordyn. Whatever you saw from me growing up—the silence. The fits of rage. The cuts.” Along the side of my hip were the most perfectly constructed cuts. Some thought they were tribal. Nae. I’d needed the pain. I cleared my throat. “Everyone knew I tried to sabotage Willow and Camdyn’s relationship because, yeah, I didn’t think he’d make a good teenage father. Also wanted to help raise her baby while keeping ‘em away from all parks. Then, there was Devi and my suicide attempt. Nevertheless, what I’m saying is, you allowed my crap while growing up. I was only gone a week. Magnify that for Jordyn. Okay?”
“O—”
“I’m not done yet. Also, factor in how Jordyn hasn’t seen her family since she was five. Or … who knows. She was five when we met! She has no one. So, if you’re rude to her, I’ll kill ya.”
Leith groaned. “I’m sorry that I asked her to be grateful that we saved her.”
“Good. Stay humble.” I reached over and patted my br- Leith’s shoulder. Shouldn’t have been so hard on him. Similar to the earlier contingency plans, I also had another one.
I glanced into the rearview mirror again. Streetlights danced over Jordyn’s slumbering face—contorted in a fearful sleep. Darkness. Light. Darkness. Light. While I knew that the darkness could never overcome the light, I hoped our fragmented relationship would progress once I got her home. I patted the plastic bag on the inside of my blazer. It contained a cloth dosed in chloroform that would help stop her from making a big mistake when she wasn’t thinking straight. Heck, for the brunt of my life, I hadn’t been thinking straight. The devil had used my mind like a playground. No, a soccer ball. At that, the cloth burned against my chest, much like shame and guilt might.
Would I use the liquid compound on Jordyn?
Damn right I would if the situation called for it. I was no longer the crazy boy who got the crap beaten out of him in high school for just trying to keep his head down and get an education. Nor was I the fifteen-year-old who beat a stranger to death with a bat because that man had slipped his way onto Clan MacKenzie land, and invasive thoughts told me he would take me again.
Taken.
Taken.
Taken.
That sole act of protecting Little Brody’s future wife, Justice, had made my family happy. Ahem, not my family. Those MacKenzies. To their dismay, I’d drawn back into my shell after saving Justice, only to cling to Willow in high school when I felt Camdyn would be the death of her. But now, I knew who I was.
A man on a mission.
Not just any mission—the mission. More important than black ops in the Marines, more urgent than saving the other kids.
Save Jordyn.
The hard part had just begun. She wasn’t just someone I failed—she was someone I’d revive.
7
SANTA BARBARA
Jordyn
Days Free: 0
As I awoke, a sigh escaped my lips, traveling throughout my entire body in a wave that stimulated every nerve ending. Euphoric. Felt like I had a day off from living a life not my own. Then I realized the bright sunny day and the birds chirping must’ve just been residuals of my dream. My eyes blinked, adjusting to the dark room. I jolted up into a seated position on a bed that felt like sleeping on clouds. Feet and hands pushed down the sheets, then I got up.
“Eek!” I screamed. The bed sat higher from the ground than I suspected.
“Wh—”
I started running, only to trip and fall over something massive and warm. Instead of being tangled in the sheets, I was tangled limbs and body with someone else. My fists went flying. Given my interest in trivia, I remembered an article about the anxiety foster youth feel when they first wake up in a new placement. Their raw fear now consumed me. I wondered if one pervy foster parent or my present existence was worse.
Perhaps I’d lost it, or maybe my late twenties made this lifestyle unsustainable. I didn’t want to live like this anymore. My first punch hit plush carpet. The next one met solid muscle. I targeted that, snarling. “Get away from—”
“Jordyn, wait,” the man groaned.
Scottish. Oh, no. No. No. I scrambled up and attempted to lash out a foot. Before it could connect with a muscular body, the Scot seized my ankle. I dropped again. How could he see in absolute darkness? I fell in a heap, my chin slamming against his chest.