Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 160(@200wpm)___ 128(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
I pull the trigger without hesitation or remorse.
He drops, leaving his buddies scrambling for cover and shouting curses.
I spare a quick glance at Snow as Constantine fires several shots in their direction. She's at the SUV, scrambling inside. Thank fuck.
"Go!" Constantine growls. "I'll lay cover fire."
I nod, and take off for the SUV, keeping low as he and the cartel exchange gunfire. By the time I make it across the clearing, Snow has the dogs in the SUV with her. I slam the door and run around to the driver's side, taking up position to lay cover fire so Constantine can get back to his Rover.
He hauls ass out of the woods, his rifles bouncing against his back with every step. Not even four feet from the SUV, he grunts, his expression twisting. He limps the rest of the way, dripping blood from his thigh.
"Fuck!" I growl, my stomach sinking. He just got hit. "Let me see it."
He waves me off, and I know he hears the sirens wailing in the distance too. "I'm good. It's a graze. We can deal with it later."
I nod, ripping open the driver's door. "Head straight for the compound," I order. "Don't stop for anyone."
"Didn't plan on it," he mutters. And then he pauses. "By the way, next time you need a favor, I'm keeping my ass at the club."
"No, you aren't."
Chapter Four
Snow
My teeth chatter, cold seeping all the way into my bones as I cower on the floorboard with my hands over my head. Quack burrows beneath me, delivering anxious licks to my cheek as if to remind me that I'm not alone. The other dogs press in all around me, cowering with me. There's no space or room to breathe. I don't care. Breathing is painful anyway. My entire body trembles and shakes with a combination of exhaustion and fear.
I'm so tired. So tired. I just want to sleep.
The engine roars as Dimitri races through Silver Spoon Falls, headed…somewhere. I didn't ask. It didn't seem important when people were shooting at us. It seems even less important now for some reason.
Delilah truly wants me dead. Rationally, I knew that. I've been hiding in a tiny hut in the woods for three weeks, afraid to even go to the police because of it. But some small part of me hoped maybe I was wrong. I think part of me wanted to be wrong. But I can't deny reality this time. She didn't send those men after me to bring me home safely. She sent them to murder me.
Quack whines low in his throat, a soft, mournful sound.
I press my face against his, closing my eyes.
"We're almost there, Magic," Dimitri says from the driver's seat.
I don't answer him. I just…drift. It's peaceful and easy. Cold and misery don't exist in the void between wakefulness and sleep. I'm not an eighteen-year-old orphan with an evil stepmother and nowhere to go. I'm safe and warm, surrounded by my dogs and him. Dimitri.
The man who risked his life to save mine.
I don't know how long I drift, but my mind dances over thoughts of him, playing them back like the notes of a familiar song. The rumbling timbre of his voice. The wicked curve to his lips. The abiding, inviting darkness in his eyes. The clean lines of his body, appearing in little more than random, enticing flashes beneath the thick press of trees. Even through the thick fog of shock, my skin still hums where he touched me, as if his skin upon mine left a brand on my soul.
A blast of cool air billows through the SUV, pulling me toward the surface. I fight against it, unwilling to give up this little slice of serenity that easily.
Bear growls a warning.
"Easy, killer. Easy," Dimitri murmurs in the dark, his voice far closer than it was only moments ago. "I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to get her out of the car and into the house."
The house? We must be here…wherever that is.
I fight to open my eyes to see where he's taken me, but it's a useless attempt. Already, I'm slipping too far under.
His hands clamp around my waist, lifting me.
"Easy, Magic," he whispers. "I've got you."
I curl into him, pressing my face against his throat. He smells like bourbon and leather with a citrus note that makes my stomach quiver. It's a delicious, unexpectedly provocative combination. It might be my imagination, but I think I feel his lips brush across my temple as he secures his hold on me.
"Magic," he says. I don't think he's trying to get my attention, though. It's more like he's simply whispering it into the dark, helpless to stop himself. There's some strange pull between us, some magnetic spark growing brighter the longer we spend near one another. I think he feels it too.