Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58295 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 233(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
“Adele’s in a room at the back of the house, overlooking the ravine. We could make a distraction and someone sneaks in the back.” They’d have to repel down with Adele strapped to them. Not ideal.
“We’ve got air support coming,” Channing adds. “Teddy’s on his way, and he’s got his brothers with them.”
“Shit, we better wrap things up before then.” Seven angry werebears in warbirds is the last thing this sensitive situation needs.
I peer out the window at Dieter’s private army. They haven’t moved, haven’t spoken. They look like fucking Storm Troopers. Creepy.
“I got Jackson on the phone,” Lance says. “He says he can get a few tanks over there.”
“Fucking awesome,” Deke mutters. “I’ve got grenades.” He’s got crazy wolf eyes again–the look he wore 24/7 before he met Sadie.
“No, no,” I rub my face. “We can’t go to war, not like this. This is civilian territory. Besides, Adele’s in there. We can’t ram through the troops and risk compromising the structural integrity of the house.”
“Rafe?” Adele’s soft voice cuts through everything. I unmute the phone and put it to my ear.
“I’m here, Adele. We’re out front. We just gotta get to you. Dieter’s got his men out front.”
“Be safe,” she begs.
“We will. I promise.”
There’s movement by the front door. An unhelmeted man marches down the center of the platoon. A commanding officer, I’d bet my life on it. He holds something up. A grenade? A device?
“Sargeant Lightfoot,” he shouts. “Master Dieter wishes to speak to you.” The man has a thick Germanic accent. He probably shot at me in Switzerland when we tried to spy on Dieter’s private eagle’s nest.
I glare at him but he makes no other move. He waits patiently, holding the device aloft. A cell phone. “Phone call for you,” he says.
“Hang on.” I mutter, and open the passenger side door and get out slowly.
“Sarge,” Deke warns.
“I got this.”
“Rafe, no,” Lance says. “It’s a ploy–”
“I know. Dieter’s playing games. But maybe I can bargain with him.” Adele for me. I pocket my phone and wink at Deke. “Once Adele’s safe, you can hit the house with all the fire power you got. Light it up. I’ll survive.”
Deke shakes his head, but he lets me exit the car. I walk slowly, my hands spread at my sides to show I’m unarmed.
The lieutenant stands still, holding the phone and nothing else. No weapons. Not that he needs a weapon. His men are bristling with them. But none raise their guns as I approach. A good sign.
When I’m face to face with the commanding officer, the phone crackles to life.
“Hello, Mr. Lightfoot,” Dieter says in a pleasant tone. “So nice of you to visit.”
I shake my head. “You’re not even here, are you?”
“Alas, I have other business.”
“You have Adele. Let her go.”
“I thought we had a deal. Your mate in trade for the information you seek for your revenge.”
“I made no such deal. Give me Adele.”
“Why? What does the life of one human matter…”
“She’s my mate.” My roar echoes around the yard. “Mine. I don’t care how many men I have to mow down, I’m getting her back.”
“What about your revenge?”
“What kind of sick game are you playing here?”
Adele
I’m crouched in the library, holding my phone to my ear. Holding my breath.
Rafe has me on the line, and he didn’t put me back on mute. I can hear everything clearly.
“She’s my mate,” he growls again.
Warmth spreads through me.
A slow, creepy chuckle comes from Dieter. “So you choose her over your revenge?”
“I choose her over everything on this planet. You can take your information and shove it up your–”
“Understood. Very well. My men have orders to stand down.”
“What the fuck?” Rafe snaps, but then there’s a pause. “No tricks?” he adds warily.
“No tricks. You made your choice. Go and get your mate.”
And then there’s just a growl, followed by the sound of Rafe’s even breathing.
I stand. “Rafe,” I call. I hear him through the phone, running, his boots crunching over the gravel. Another growl and a grunt.
“I’m in,” he calls, and I hear his voice through the phone and very faintly through the door. “Adele!”
“Rafe,” I shout, banging on the door for good measure. “Back here! Follow the hall to the very back!”
His boots pound over the hardwood floors. I grab the locked doorknob and twist it, trying to rattle it, even though it's locked and holds fast.
“Adele!” Rafe’s voice sounds on the other side of the door.
“It’s locked,” I shout.
“Back up, baby,” he orders.
I scramble backwards and duck behind a chair for good measure.
A roar and a thud. The room shudders. Another roar, a thud. Books fall off the shelves. I cover my head, but can’t help peeking out. The room shakes. A few more thuds, and the door is toast.
A hand rips through the wood. Splinters go flying. Then Rafe surges through the broken wreckage of the door.