Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 658(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Big guy, mean shoulders, probably in his thirties, athletic build. Ski mask.
He goes down with a muffled grunt.
My chokehold has him wheezing faster than I can breathe.
It’s the sort of weakness you only learn from years of experience taking down big guys like him. Only, this guy is strong as a buffalo and far more skilled.
Before he blacks out, he hooks his foot around my leg and twists.
Fuck!
I go down hard, bringing him with me.
An elbow plows into my solar plexus as he scrambles up.
Double fuck.
I’m losing precious seconds as I force pained air back into my lungs and roll. He’s leaping over me now, sprinting into the house.
I’m back up before my body’s ready, but there’s no time to adjust. Just a mad flight after him up multiple flights of stairs.
He’s heading for the second-floor balcony.
The door snaps open so hard the glass shakes.
Then he’s pounding down the stairs to the garden, looking for his escape.
So the asshole’s not willing to stand his ground and fight. I wonder if it’s the Hera Egg he’s after at all, except no petty jewelry thief should be that good at sniffing at perimeter security or throwing me to the floor.
I pelt after him, a ground-eating run, shooting down the hall and passing a very confused Cleo emerging from her room.
Predictably, she screams bloody murder.
I’m lucky she didn’t walk out a second or two earlier, or she’d have barreled into the invader.
I barely register her, hoping she knows to stay put. I can’t bother with that, not until the house is secure and this fuck goes into custody.
There’s no way around trusting Cleo Blackthorn. It’s up to her to console Kit, too, if the commotion wakes her up.
Fuck, I should’ve given her a quick self-defense talk, a practice round or two, never mind how much contact that would’ve meant for us.
On the other hand, there never should’ve been a need for that.
Knowing this ninja got past my frontline defenses has me panicked and sick.
The plan to protect her, to protect this house, wasn’t supposed to have these vulnerabilities.
And as I plow outside, stumbling back a foot every time I’m almost close enough to grab him, I’m grossly aware that I’m leaving them alone in the house.
If there’s someone else—
No, none of the sensors went off. I’m certain. Whoever entered the property went straight for the basement first, almost like they knew.
They never made it to the other floors, short of Speedy Goonfuckass bolting off like a startled rabbit.
It’s early dawn now, thick grey mist blowing in from the ocean.
The intruder pulls ahead, just a broad shadow, flanking a second man who leaps out of the hedges.
Two of them.
Goddammit, there are two—and they’re moving rapidly.
My knees pick the perfect time to mutiny.
Not the usual ache.
A sharp, blinding crunch, pain ripping up so hot and sudden it’s almost blinding.
Fuck me.
No way can I close the gap, much less keep them visible in this fog.
Snarling, I reach for the gun at my waist, bring it up, and aim.
Shit visibility.
Exhaling slowly, I squint and squeeze the trigger.
One man bellows, but he keeps moving.
Not good enough.
I only grazed him.
So I push faster, ignoring the invisible shark that’s ripping my knee apart with its teeth, ignoring blinding pain so intense it makes me want to vomit.
The mist swirls around me like a curtain, damp and unsettling as we get closer to the shore.
I barely see them now.
They’re galloping too fast for me to catch up. Not in this state.
No point in firing aimlessly when it won’t take them down.
Then my leg fully seizes and drops me.
I go down hard in a patch of mud, slamming my side. Wheezing.
My whole body groans, angry and spent as I haul myself back up. I should be an expert at ignoring agony by now.
Not today.
The violent, stiff throb in my leg makes it impossible to press on, and by the time I reach the fence in this soupy fog, there’s just a loud squeal of tires and a black SUV darting down the back road.
Mission aborted. But for how fucking long?
I curl my fingers around the cold metal fence post, panting. My lungs heave fire.
Not even a license plate to go off of. I’m skeptical perimeter cameras could’ve captured anything in this mess.
No distinctive features. They hit us at the perfect time.
The camera over the basement door would’ve captured their basic build and eyes behind the masks, but that’s it.
How the hell did they make it inside with nothing else tripping?
I slick a hand through my hair, swiping it back, wet with morning gloom and my sweat.
If I had a team at my disposal, I’d have them out combing the property while I had someone else swooping in to usher Cleo and Kit off to a safehouse, along with the cursed egg.
But it’s just me, myself, and I.