Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
What’s he going to do? Where is he taking me?
‘You motherfucker.’ Becker’s voice penetrates my eardrums, followed by the cutting smash of glass shattering at my feet. I’m suddenly yanked from Brent’s hold and shoved precisely and delicately aside, and then I hear a roar of anger, followed by the harsh sound of a fist meeting a face.
I jump back as the lights spring on and flood the room with a bright glare, and once my vision has cleared, I find Brent on the floor holding his jaw and Becker looming over him, shaking his fist. I expect Becker to join him on the ground and beat him to a pulp at any moment; he looks spun up with anger, but instead, surprisingly, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowds urgently.
Shouting erupts from behind, and I look back on a frown to see a bottleneck of panicked people at the entrance of the showing room. The lights are on. Why the sudden increase of panic and noise?
I see Lucy emerge from the ballroom looking alarmed and Mark looking confused by the pandemonium. He spots me being urgently guided away. ‘Wait up!’ he calls, taking Lucy’s hand and pulling her along behind him. I can’t wait up; Becker is determinedly pulling me through Countryscape, so I wave my arm for them to follow us instead. I catch Brent struggling up from the floor. His eyes land on mine and hold as he brushes his tux down, his grey hair in disarray as he glares at us. And for the first time, I see violence on his face. He looks positively . . . murderous.
Good God.
I return my focus forward, frightened by the intent in his eyes. ‘Becker, slow down,’ I pant, my feet working faster than is safe in my heels. Just like the other time I’ve been to Countryscape, I’m running scared. Becker takes the stairs two at a time, peeking over his shoulder every now and then to check I’m there. Or check I’m upright. I get the feeling his urgency might have something to do with his fear of seriously damaging Brent should we stick around. I can only commend his control, because if I were to hedge my bets, I would have put my life on Becker beating him black and blue. Brent got off lightly.
Once we land at the bottom of the stone stairs, Becker skids to a stop on the gravel and whirls around to face me. His hands rest on my shoulders, his eyes run a quick check of my face before dropping down my body, and his expression twists with worry. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, genuine anxiety lacing his tone.
‘I’m fine.’ I find myself assuring him when I’m not fine at all. I feel better now Becker has me, but my mind keeps returning to the rampant thoughts bombarding my mind when Brent was trying to remove me from Countryscape. Where the hell was he going to take me? What was he going to do?
Becker wastes no time getting us on our way again, and as soon as we reach his car, he opens the door and tries to push me down into the seat. ‘Lucy and Mark,’ I remind him, trying to spot my friends. ‘We can’t just leave them.’
Becker looks back, just as they appear out of the doors of Countryscape. He turns back towards me. ‘What happened?’ he asks, reaching up to take off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes before opening them.
‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘One minute I was happily listening to the story behind the Heart of Hell, and the next minute the lights went out and someone grabbed me.’
Becker’s nostrils flare dangerously, and he glances to the side when we’re joined by Mark and Lucy. ‘What’s going on?’ Lucy asks.
‘Nothing,’ Becker and I both answer in unison.
‘Get in,’ Becker says, opening the back door. ‘We’ll be two secs.’ He pulls me away from the car, putting distance between us and my friends. His anger has faded, but his concern is all too evident. ‘You sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes,’ I assure him, seeing the stress and worry on his face. ‘Why did he do that? What was he planning on doing, kidnapping me and demanding a one-hundred-and-fifty-million-pound ransom?’ I joke, laughing, trying to ease Becker up a bit. But I stop the moment I realise he isn’t joining me in my amusement. ‘Why aren’t you laughing?’ It’s a rhetorical question. I know why, and it scares the shit out of me. The Hunt Legacy isn’t a story any more. It’s my reality. ‘You don’t think he’d—’
‘He’s his father’s son.’ The regret pouring from Becker makes me worry for different reasons – reasons other than Brent using me against Becker in some way. I can see clear as day what Becker is thinking. He’s thinking how he regrets putting me at risk, for bringing me into his world.