Through the Glen (The Highlands #3) Read Online Samantha Young

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: The Highlands Series by Samantha Young
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Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
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“Aye, I get that,” she replied in her Geordie accent I loved so much. “I promise I get that. But just think on it a bit more. When this deal with Cavendish is announced, people are going to be very excited about the author behind Juno. Moreover … you should be prepared to find yourself in the public eye if you’re in a serious relationship with Theo. He’s traversed that impossible crossover into celebrity director. Not all directors do that.”

My stomach flipped at the thought of the public being interested in our relationship. We’d made so much progress in such a small space of time. I was so proud of him for facing his dad. So much so, I felt ready now to give him those three little words back. I’d just been waiting for him to say them again.

But to have to share him with the country? That I was not looking forward to.

I’d do it, though, to be with him.

“I hear you.” I nodded, pushing my chair back. “And I promise to think about it. But for now, I need to pee. One too many mojitos.”

Liz chuckled and pointed toward the bar. “The restrooms are back there.”

I weaved through the crowded pub, walking along the edges of the actual bar area, searching for a sign pointing to the restrooms. Liz and I had ordered chicken wings to soak up the alcohol, so while I was buzzed, I wasn’t drunk. My skin, however, was hot from the cocktails, and hot skin made me think of Theo.

I grinned wickedly at my plans of jumping him as soon as I returned to the flat.

Seeing the sign for the restrooms, I strolled past the counter and down a corridor. It branched off to the right toward the kitchen and to the left down another dimly lit hallway. I noted three doors, two on the left and one at the end of the hall.

The second door on the left was the ladies’ restroom and there was a big fat OUT OF ORDER sign on it. “Bloody hell.” Guess it would just have to wait.

I spun away and almost ran smack-bang into a male chest.

“Sorry,” the man muttered, his face half shadow in the low light. He wore a black shirt, black tie, and black trousers like the other waitstaff and bartenders. “Ladies’ restroom is out of order,” he explained unnecessarily but gestured behind me. “You can use the staff one if you like.”

“Oh, thank goodness, thanks.” I walked toward the door at the end of the hall. “It’s this one?”

There was no answer, so I assumed he’d gone back to work. I pushed open the door, realizing a second too late that I’d just opened an exit and not a restroom door.

I might not have been drunk, but the alcohol had definitely slowed my cognition because I stumbled out into the dark, narrow alley behind the bar before I could stop myself. Rolling my eyes, I moved to turn to go back and find the door he’d meant, when what felt like steel bands wrapped around me and something covered my mouth.

I jerked in fright as a chemical smell filtered up my nose and I heard the male grunt behind me as a hard body shuffled me farther into the alley.

Knowing I only had seconds before I passed out from what I suspected was chloroform, I reacted instinctively. And dropped like a sack of potatoes.

My assailant didn’t expect it, and I had time to turn and punch him hard between the legs with a shriek of rage. Just like Jared had taught me after he’d heard about the attack on Sloane at Ardnoch.

Muttered expletives fell from the guy’s mouth as he clutched his crotch and I scrambled back. Flashbacks from that night in Inverness all those years ago looming, but I knew I couldn’t panic. Panic would get me nowhere.

Then renewed horror filled me when light from a security lamp above caught his face.

I knew that face.

All of Britain knew that face. Handsome, but with empty eyes.

It was Quinn Gray.

A sense of surreal terror threatened to overcome me, but the survivor in me took control. I shoved up onto my feet, scrambling and slipping on food waste that had spilled out from the bar’s rubbish bins. Beyond the tight alleyway was the street. I could see cars passing, people walking past.

I just had to get to them.

It felt like I was running in slow motion.

A tight pain scored across my scalp and down my spine as something caught in my hair and pulled me back with such force, I lost my footing.

I screamed as Quinn dragged me back down the alley, but music throbbed from inside the buildings on either side of us and the traffic beyond drowned me out. I clawed at his hands, dragging my nails down his arms, and he growled like an animal. Suddenly, he threw me against the damp, brick wall, and my cheek scraped against it, leaving a stinging pain in its wake.


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