Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Do you trust Monroe?”
“Yes.” It’s the truth.
“The Mystics carry the antidote on them. If she can get it, it will help Shiloh faster than anything I can do.” He pauses. “We’ll be waiting at the western bridge. Get back to us safely, brother. That’s an order.”
I hang up. A quick look around shows the street is still deserted, but I don’t know how long it will stay that way. As much as I don’t want to move Shiloh, we can’t stay here. I hold my breath as I ease her into my arms and stagger my feet, heading for the truck. “Hang on. Just hang the fuck on. Monroe will get the fucker and bring us the antidote.”
I hope like hell I’m not lying.
Chapter 30
Monroe
Rage gives me wings. I fly over the ground in pursuit of the Mystic. I can just see their robes, a deep purple and blue that would blend perfectly into a twilight skyline. They’re moving fast, having obviously already scouted out a quick exit, but I know this faction better than anyone.
I follow for another half a block before I feel like I have a good read on their direction. Then I veer right, cutting down two blocks and scrambling up a porch column to the roof of the building. I pick up speed, easily jumping the gaps between the buildings as I head for the street they should be coming down any moment.
Sure enough, the fucker is pelting in my direction. Their face and hair is hidden beneath a hood, but they don’t bother to look behind them. Fool.
I throw myself off the building as they approach. They look up as my shadow passes over them, but by then it’s too late. I hit them hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs, but who needs to breathe when fury is propelling them? I straddle them, easily dodging a punch, and grab their throat, slamming their head back into the pavement. Once. Twice. On the third time, their arms fall back to the street and lie still.
Not dead. Unconscious.
I keep one hand on their throat and fumble through their robes with the other, searching for… Ah, there it is.
I yank back the hood to find a man with light-brown skin and black hair. He shudders and opens his eyes. Good. I hold up a dart, careful to keep my fingers away from the sharp end. “Is this what you shot my girlfriend with?”
“Fuck off, Amazon.”
“Hmm. Thought you might say that.” I release his throat and grab his arm. It’s a better location, because it will give him time to react instead of knocking him out cold the way he did Shiloh.
Hang on, love.
I jab the dart into his forearm and jump back. Predictably, he doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles at the pack at his waist, pulling out a tiny vial of green liquid and downing it. The man shudders with relief. “You bitch.”
I shift a little farther away, eyeing him. A beat passes, two, three. When he doesn’t keel over and die, I decide he’s actually given himself the antidote instead of taking some other poison. More, the dart should have taken him out by now if it wasn’t counteracted. Good. While he’s still finding his feet, I punch him in the face, knocking him to the ground.
Then I make sure he won’t ever get up again.
The squeal of tires against the street brings my head up. I dig through the assassin’s pouch as Broderick screeches to a halt next to me. It takes a few seconds to find another vial filled with green liquid identical to the first one and then I run to the truck and yank open the door. “I have the antidote.”
He’s too pale, the lines bracketing his mouth looking deeper than I’ve ever seen them. “Are you sure it’s the right one?”
“As sure as I can be.” I wait a beat, but he doesn’t try to stop me as I reach for Shiloh’s limp form and carefully tilt her head back. “Hang in there, Shiloh. This won’t be comfortable.” I drag in a breath. “She’s still breathing, but I don’t want to take any chances. Pour it in while I help her swallow.”
“Okay.” He takes the vial from me, and I hold her mouth open as Broderick dumps it down her throat. Then I do my best to ensure all the antidote actually makes it to her stomach.
“Please don’t be too late. Come on, love. Come back to us.”
Time ceases to have meaning as we watch her, waiting to see if the antidote works. A million things flash through my mind in those short minutes. The possibility that the assassin faked me out. The implications of a Mystic this far inside Amazon territory. How desperately I don’t want to make Shiloh choose between me and Broderick.