Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 441(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
My throat got thick again. If I answered, my voice was going to crack, I just fucking knew it. I’d rather she just announced she was pregnant because at least then I’d have an excuse to be a sniffling bag of emotions. But over this? A simple question? Fuck me. I was a goner.
I cleared my throat and did a damn fine job of keeping my voice even. “Depends. Are you standing with me?”
She smiled, seeing right through me. “Forever, remember?”
I cut my gaze back out the windshield. Brooke and Zoey were almost to the door, their hands connected, swinging with every step. “Then yeah. I absolutely—”
The horn hit like a physical blow.
One long, aggressive blast. The automotive version of fuck you, get out of the way.
I swung my gaze out toward the street.
Blue sedan. Older model. No front plate. Cutting across traffic. Cars slamming on their brakes.
It turned the wrong way into the exit, clipping the curb.
Too fast.
Too reckless.
All fucking wrong.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as my brain shifted into battle mode, slowing everything around me, allowing me to absorb details to the point where the seconds played out like a full-length horror movie.
My hand shot across the console and locked around Lofton’s wrist before she could even process what was happening. “Devon—”
“Get down,” I ordered, using a hand at the back of her head to fold her forward.
“Devon—” she cried, cramming her body into the floorboard.
I held my breath as the sedan blew through the lot, fishtailing as the rear tires caught asphalt. For one suspended second, my entire body went stiff because Brooke and Zoey were right there, hand in hand, three steps from the restaurant door, directly in its path.
“No!” I shouted.
Thankfully, Brooke saw it first.
She yanked Zoey so hard the little girl’s feet left the ground, spinning until the two of them fell backward, Zoey crushed against her chest as the sedan came close enough that the draft blew through Brooke’s hair.
Close enough that I felt it in my teeth.
The car slammed on its brakes.
Tires shrieking. Rubber burning. Smoke curling in its wake.
It stopped crooked in front of the door.
Then the driver was out before the car had fully stopped rocking. Dark jacket. Dark jeans. Medium build. Five-eleven, maybe six feet. Ski mask.
My pulse spiked.
The exact—and only—description we had of Lofton’s stalker from the nine-one-one call.
My hand hit the door handle and the gun in my appendix holster at the same time.
“Stay in the car,” I snapped.
Just before I swung it open, I watched him head straight for Brooke and Zoey.
No hesitation. No scanning. No adjustment.
Purposeful.
He already knew where he was going.
Which meant—
Diversion.
My hand froze on the handle.
He grabbed Zoey’s arm and ripped her out of Brooke’s grasp.
Brooke dove after her, clawing at his jeans, his boots—anything she could get her hands on—until he kicked her off hard enough to send her back, her head cracking the pavement.
Zoey’s scream split the air as he carried her to the car.
Every instinct in my body roared to move.
End it.
Drop him.
Fix it.
And then—
Lofton.
If this was a two-man operation meant to pull me out, then the second I stepped out of that car, she was exposed.
Vulnerable.
Accessible.
I could not leave her.
Lofton was the primary.
Every fiber of my being pulled me in the opposite direction, but my training held me hostage with a restraint that felt like it was tearing muscle from bone.
The restaurant door burst open as Alex came out hard, gun already up.
Thank God.
But there was no way he’d take the shot with Zoey in the man’s arms.
Gunfire cracked through the air.
Alex staggered, tried to catch himself, and then went down hard.
I snatched up my phone. Not bothering with nine-one-one.
Apollo answered on the first ring. “What’s—”
“Sushi Fever. Active shooter. Man down.” The words came out clean and clipped and professional, the way eleven years of training had built them to come out regardless of what was happening inside my chest. “It’s Alex.”
“Fuck!”
I was already moving, already calculating, already running the geometry of the lot against every exit and every angle—but underneath all of it, underneath the training and the protocol and the cold mechanical efficiency, something was cracking open.
Because Lofton was right beside me.
And what I was about to say was going to destroy her.
“Get the cops out here. See if you can get into the restaurant’s cameras.” I forced my voice to stay even. Forced my hands to stay steady. “I think it’s a diversion, so I can’t leave Lofton.”
I flicked my gaze to hers for less than a second.
She was scared out of her mind, yet still staring at me with so much fucking trust in her eyes.
There was no version of this that didn’t break her.
No way to soften it or ease the blow.
There was only the truth, and I had to deliver it fast, because every second I held it back was a second we didn’t have.