Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Of course I trust you,” I say. To prove it, I lift my drink and take a sip, welcoming the scalding taste.
She smiles sadly.
“I have so many things to tell you,” she says softly, and she drops her voice to a whisper. “But first, you need to know we aren’t alone.”
I nod. “I suspected as much. Who’s with you?”
She winces as if I struck her, then beckons me with a finger.
I lean in, and she whispers in my ear.
“Not with me, Mac. With my father. I love you, and I couldn’t betray you. Not now, not ever. I’m here because I can’t.”
Can’t? Had she been she planning on it? Is she?
“Man at six o’clock,” she whispers. “Don’t look. But when I give the signal, you’ll have to pull your weapon. Don’t worry, though. Everything will be alright. This is going to work out.”
I give her a quizzical look. I hate that she’s talking like this, as if she’s set this into motion and knows she won’t be saved.
“Anyone else?” I ask. I want to be prepared to shoot if anyone comes after her.
She nods quietly. “Man in white by the exit. Also my father’s.”
I nod slowly. She draws in a deep breath.
“There’s only one way to escape him,” she says quietly. With a trembling hand, she lifts her own glass. “Mac, take my phone, will you?”
I look at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Put the camera on. Take a picture when I drink this, will you?”
“What?”
She lifts the drink to her lips and begins to sip, her eyes closed, a look of determination on her face as if she’s facing an executioner. And it all dawns on me with vivid clarity.
Her father’s text is still on the screen.
I read it too late.
She sips the drink while I read the message.
Send me a picture when he drinks it.
In one fluid motion, I knock the glass out of her hand, but she’s already emptied it. It falls to the ground and shatters into pieces. People scream around us, and she looks at me with wide eyes.
“What have you done, Mac?” she whispers, white as a ghost. “What have you done?”
She falls off her stool, and I catch her before she lands.
“I couldn’t do it. I never planned on it,” she says, as her eyes close.
“Bryn! God, Bryn!” I look around me, frantic. “Get a doctor! Someone get a fucking doctor! Obtenez un docteur!”
“Mac!”
I draw my weapon just as one of her father’s men reaches for me, but he doesn’t come for me. He goes straight for her, his pistol loaded and pointed at her head. I tackle him, rolling him onto the floor as I deck him. I hit him again, and again. Someone’s on me, trying to pull me off him.
He rolls with me, reaching for her, and I know he’s bent on killing her. He’s been given orders, I can fucking tell he has. I hit him again, and again, until his gun falls to the floor, when another one of Aitkens’ men pulls a gun on Bryn.
Without thinking I grab the gun from the floor and pull the trigger. I hit my mark. Glass crashes and people scream, and we fight in a bloody battle to the death.
I tell my men to hold them back, to keep them away, and they respond perfectly, trained as they’ve been to fight.
Sirens ring, and lights flash, but I don’t fucking care. She’s slipping away, right in front of me.
Slipping away.
Chapter 20
Bryn
“I love you.”
His voice is far off in the distance, but it’s Mac, I know it is. I try to open my mouth, but I can’t speak. My lips are too heavy, my mind a haze of confusion.
What happened? Where am I?
The most I can do is lift my hand, and I immediately feel Mac’s hand on mine.
“Bryn, love. Can you hear me?”
With effort, I nod my head.
“Thank God,” he says, his voice choked. He sounds as if he’s about to cry, and it breaks my heart. “Thank God.”
I need to see where I am. I need to talk to him. I open my eyes and am immediately surrounded by bright white light. Mac’s sitting beside me, leaning over the bed, still wearing the suit from the wedding.
It’s then that I realize my head is pounding. The pain is nearly unbearable, and I almost close my eyes against it, but I have to keep them open,
“Where am I?” I ask, with effort.
“We’re back in my hotel room, lass,” he whispers. “We’ve got a suite. I’ve connections here, and thankfully they cleaned up the mess in the bar, the doctor’s seen to you, and we’re safe.”
“What happened?” I whisper.
He gives me a stern look, that look I’ve come to crave, his voice hard when he asks, “That’s the question I need to fuckin’ ask you.”