Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
I nod, flipping the file open. I don’t have time to process more than three bullet points before the outer office explodes into motion. There’s a commotion as heels scrape marble then the sound of heavy boots and a staccato run. The next thing I know, Cowboy and Sheriff Armstrong crash through the glass double doors.
They don’t knock. They don’t say hello. Cowboy’s got his MC vest thrown over a faded t-shirt, sweat trickling down the side of his face, and Armstrong’s usually perfect uniform is wrinkled and dusted with yellow pollen. Both of them look like they just sprinted a mile through a tornado.
Armstrong locks eyes with me. “We’ve got a problem,” he barks.
My pulse spikes. “What kind of problem?” It can’t be Naomi runs through my mind on a continuous loop.
Cowboy goes straight to the point. “Stellan Mintz lost his goddamn mind. He’s got your girl and her family barricaded in the Bardot house.”
Everything in my body freezes, as if time itself has momentarily halted. My blood feels thick and slow in my veins, my breath catches in my throat, and my thoughts become a chaotic jumble, unable to form coherent sentences. A full second stretches out, heavy with anticipation, before the weight of the meaning crashes down upon me like a tidal wave. The folder in my hand, once gripped tightly, goes slack, slipping slightly as my fingers lose their strength.
Sheriff Armstrong says, “We got the call six minutes ago. He showed up at the house, forced his way in, and is holding all three Bardot women at gunpoint.”
I’m on my feet as panic slams through me. “What the fuck— How the hell did he—”
Cowboy raises both palms. “He’s amped out of his mind. Says he wants Casey to talk to him or ‘everyone pays.’”
I scan Armstrong’s face hoping to wake up from this goddamn nightmare. His jaw is tight and there’s a vein pulsing at his temple. I’ve never seen him this rattled.
Giant Carmichael is already on the phone, barking orders as I turn and grab Armstrong by the front of his uniform shirt. “Are they safe? Is anyone hurt?”
“As of the last call, nobody’s shot. Deputy Gannon’s already on scene, holding perimeter. SWAT’s rolling from county. We don’t know if he’s got them all together or split up.”
Cowboy paces, fist clenched tight enough to crack the bones. “He’s not talking to anyone but Armstrong.”
Giant slams the phone into the cradle. “Let’s go.”
I nod and follow him out, not trusting myself to speak.
Cowboy grabs my arm. “This isn’t on you, Wyatt. He’s been spiraling for weeks.”
But it is on me. I should have known. I should’ve listened to my instincts and kept my woman cuffed to my side. I see her gorgeous face in my mind and know I’ll do whatever it takes to rescue her and make sure she’s safe from now on.
Giant tosses me a Kevlar vest from the supply closet. “Put this on. We’re not taking chances. I’ll have a sidearm ready in the truck.”
I strip my jacket off, slide the vest on, my hands moving on pure muscle memory. Cowboy’s already out the door, stomping toward the stairwell. Armstrong gives me a curt nod, all business now. “The little fucker won’t know what hit him.”
I meet his eyes. “I can’t live without her.”
He looks at me, ice dripping from his words. “You won’t have to.”
We stampede out of the office. The glass door swings shut behind us, and I hear Giant’s voice commanding the rest of his team to stay put. I’m already halfway down the hall, the only thought in my head is Naomi, and how I will kill that little motherfucker if he harms one hair on her head.
By the time we hit the parking garage, I’m shaking so bad I have to clench my teeth to keep from screaming. Cowboy slides behind the wheel of his corvette and signals for me to get in the passenger seat. I barely register the interior or the startup rumble. Armstrong’s cruiser peels out right behind us.
As the sports car squeals out onto Main Street, I slam my fist into the dash so hard the hard plastic groans. “Fuck! How did I not see this coming?”
Cowboy floors it, tires squealing. “You did everything you could, Wyatt. Now have a little mercy on my car. I just picked it up two weeks ago.”
“No,” I grind out, “I fucking didn’t. I let my guard down and now that little asshole has my family.”
He glances at me, eyes hard. “That’s called having a life. You finally let yourself love someone. Stellan’s the only one to blame here.”
I try to swallow the words, but they keep coming. “If anything happens to her—”
Cowboy cuts me off. “Don’t finish that sentence. We’re getting her out.”
I clench my jaw so tight I feel the cartilage pop.