Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I immediately try to take stock of injuries, but I don’t hurt anywhere other than my ringing ears. I’m still blinded, so I assume it’s Cruce pulling me to feet. I’m so dizzy I start to sink again, feeling suddenly nauseous.
Then I’m tossed up and over his shoulder. He takes off at a run out of the bedroom. Muffled sounds of what I think might be people shouting at each other tries to pierce through my panic. As I blink furiously, my vision starts to clear, even if it’s jumbled from Cruce’s hurried movements.
I lift my head to look down the hallway toward the master bedroom, horrified to see Cruce stumbling out of it. He lurches all the way across the hall, careens into the wall, and stumbles back the other way. He has his gun in one hand, the other holding the side of his head, and I can’t tell if he’s injured or not.
My hearing starts to clear just in time to experience Cruce’s roar of agonizing fury as he starts to run after us.
Us?
Who the hell has me?
I start to struggle against whoever’s shoulder I’m tossed over, but the person is big and strong, and I’m not even fazing him. He’s also leaving Cruce behind, and my last glimpse is of him stumbling after us as the man sprints out the front door and moves quickly down the path to the beach.
I dig my hands against my captor’s back and push up to look over my shoulder. Several black-dressed men run in front of him.
Two others appear from the darkness on the path behind us. They are dressed in black, too, from head to toe and carry handguns.
I scream for Cruce, but I know it’s fruitless. He’s one man against several, and he was clearly injured in that blast… whatever it was.
It takes only moments before we emerge onto the beach. The men head straight for the dock and as I twist once again to see what we’re running toward, I’m stunned to spot a black inflatable boat with an engine. One of those military-types soldiers train in.
“Get her in the boat,” someone yells, and the man carrying me dumps me unceremoniously inside. It’s a jarring fall, and my lower back hits something hard.
I ignore it, immediately scrambling toward the edge with the intent to fling myself into the water.
“Oh, no you don’t, princess,” someone says. A large hand is in my hair and yanking me back. When he lets go, it sends me sprawling, my t-shirt flying up to expose my nudity.
I don’t even have time to be concerned about it, my only thought escape. Once again, I lunge for the side, only to be jerked back viciously by my hair again.
“Try it again and I’m going to hit you,” the man promises.
I rise to my knees, lose my balance as I’m still dizzy from that explosion, and press my hands into the bottom of the boat so I don’t face plant.
I growl, “Fuck you.”
His laugh is so sinister that my blood goes cold. “Later, princess. Promise.”
Three men jump into the boat, taking positions around me.
“Go, go, go,” someone yells, and I lift my head to see the last two men sprinting down the dock.
A gunshot pierces the air, and one of them crumbles. The other doesn’t even slow, turning on the jets to reach the now-running boat. It starts to drift backward from the dock when another gunshot rings out.
Eyes on the beach, I feel my heart miss a beat when I see Cruce running toward us. His feet hit the dock and he takes aim at the man just as he starts to launch himself off the edge toward the boat.
Cruce squeezes the trigger without pausing in his chase. The man jerks sideways, his hand going to his shoulder. Twisting, he falls into the water.
The large man beside me raises his own gun, aiming it right at Cruce, who’s now in a flat-out sprint to reach the end of the dock as the boat starts to pull away.
“No,” I scream, launching myself at the man. I grab hold of his arm, jerking it down.
He merely laughs, nodding at one of his teammates. I watch in horror as the man levels his gun, aims at Cruce, and fires off one shot.
Horrified, I stare as Cruce launches his body off the dock toward us. I can’t tell if the bullet hits him or not. I only hear his soft grunt as his hands slap against the side of the boat, holding tight for just a moment.
His gaze locks with mine, and it’s filled with fierce determination to save me.
“I’m so sorry,” I scream at Cruce above the whine of the boat engine. “This is all my fault.”
Whether he hears me or not, I don’t know. He hauls himself onto the edge of the boat, getting one shoulder up and over the inflatable as we continue to reverse away from the dock.