Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
A tortured roar erupted from Brodan, and I watched as he used his impressive strength to throw himself and the chair at the stranger.
I didn’t wait around.
Through my dizziness and nausea, I shoved myself up and lunged across the small space for the ice pick. Turning, I saw the stranger push Brodan off him. He shoved the chair onto its back, causing Brodan to cry out as his hands smashed against the floor.
The man was so consumed with Brodan, he wasn’t paying attention to me.
And something primal came over me.
I rushed him with a cry of fury, and he straightened in shock at the sight. He’d dropped the handgun in the tussle. He had nothing to protect himself.
Adrenaline filled me with a strength I could never have imagined as I plunged the ice pick into his chest.
His face slackened with shock, and he stumbled. My attention moved to the handgun he’d dropped, and I rushed to grab it before he could remember its existence.
I pointed the gun at him as he fell to his knees and pulled out the ice pick. Blood poured from the wound, too fast, too much. He turned deathly pale before he collapsed onto his back.
Eyes open but vacant.
Nausea rose, but a sound from Brodan reminded me there was no time to think about the fact that I’d probably just killed a man. I pulled Brodan’s chair up with gritted teeth and then dropped behind it to untie his bruised hands.
“Sunset,” he said gruffly, his anguish so noticeable, it was like a scream through the croaky quiet of his nickname for me. “Sunset.”
The cabin door blasted open, swinging so hard against the inside wall it cracked off its hinge. I cried out, raising the handgun at whoever was coming inside.
My sob burst free at the sight of an armed Walker Ironside.
“Sunset,” Brodan whispered, and I rounded the chair to clasp his face in my hands.
Sorrow and relief mingled in his gaze.
“Sunset, I’m so sorry …” His voice broke on the last syllable.
I shook my head. No. This wasn’t his fault.
“Fuck.” Walker bit out gruffly as he strode inside, followed by two other armed men. One of them was Mac, I realized. “Are you two all right?”
“Roe might have a concussion,” Brodan replied quietly.
I huffed. “He needs an ambulance.”
“You both do,” Mac said, gaze furious. “There’s already one on the way. We need to get you back to the car park.”
“Who is this?” Walker lowered himself to his haunches and checked the stranger’s pulse. “Dead.”
I remembered the feel of the ice pick plunging through his chest and felt my nausea rise. “I … I …”
“It was self-defense,” Brodan offered. “I did it in self-defense.”
My eyes flew to his. “Brodan, no—”
“With your hands tied behind your back?” Walker asked dryly. “Don’t worry. Monroe won’t be charged for self-defense.” He pushed open the stranger’s jacket and patted his inside pockets. Finding something, he pulled out a wallet and flipped it open. “Ian Moffat.” He looked at us. “You know him?”
Brodan shook his head as one of the other men freed his hands and legs. “From what he was saying, he dated Vanessa Woodridge. He found her letters to me and others on her computer. He admitted to killing her father.”
Walker nodded and stood up. “The police are on their way. We can tell them all this, but first, let’s get you to the hospital.”
I didn’t want to leave Brodan’s side. So I didn’t. We held on to each other as Mac, Walker, and the others guided us through the woods to the car park.
“What time is it?” I asked over our footsteps crunching through the undergrowth.
Walk answered.
Huh.
“Two hours,” I whispered.
“Sunset?” Brodan squeezed my hand.
“It’s been less than two hours.” Though those moments in the cabin had felt like an eternity.
And I knew when I closed my eyes tonight, I’d see Ian Moffat’s face slacken into death.
“I’ve got you,” Brodan promised as if he could hear my thoughts. “I’m not letting go, Sunset. I’m never letting go.”
38
Monroe
We were on our way to the hospital in the ambulance when I remembered the pregnancy test in my car.
Renewed terror I couldn’t speak of held me tense as we rode to Inverness. The paramedics reckoned I had a concussion.
I could only hope that was the worst of my injuries.
Brodan was beaten and bruised, a possible concussion too, and a cracked rib or two where Moffat had disabled him. While I’d been out, Moffat had led Brodan into the cabin and knocked him unconscious with the butt of his gun. Brodan had been out just long enough for the bastard to tie him to the chair. As soon as Brodan regained consciousness, Ian Moffat had started hitting him, which I assumed was the noise that woke me up.
I felt sick every time I thought about it.