Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
That’s a damn good question. With my project nearly finished, I head to the door. I’m honestly not sure I need to know anything more right this second. Because the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and my gut is telling me something right now.
But so is Hudson.
Out of nowhere, he’s up and racing to the door, barking at it. “What’s going on, Hudson?” I ask as I swiftly join him, while googling Ian Joseph.
The second his picture pops up, I nearly crush my phone in my hand.
Are you fucking kidding me? That’s the sleazeball who hit on my woman the night I met her. He must have been the one who took the picture of us the other night, not her ex. That smug smile from her ex was just a smug smile. I burn, lava flowing through my veins. As I throw open the door, Hudson tilts his head, his ears pointing up. I track him and spot a shadow slipping into the maze on the far side.
Not on my watch.
Adrenaline rushes through me, bulldozing any remnants of fear right out of the way. I run like hell across the front of the lawn, past the shop, to the fairy lights illuminating the lavender maze. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Daveed hanging back by my car, then straightening up when I pass like a shot. But I’ve got no time to assess whether he moves or not.
Haven took Ripley into the maze for a midnight picnic to keep her busy. To get her safely out of the way so I could be in the cottage. And some scum sneaked in on the other side. The shoot’s over, so we no longer have round-the-clock guards. Even if we did, the property is huge, and a picket fence is nothing to penetrate despite the floodlights.
When I reach the mouth of the maze, I hurtle in with Hudson, powered only by the need to get to the women right this second. And I nearly run into Chris Carlisle. “What’s going on?” he asks, alarmed.
Me fucking too.
But I’ve got no time to talk. “Someone’s here,” I mutter, then sidestep around him, following the dog.
Briefly, my mind jumps back in time to the other night when Hudson chased a ball into the maze. Holy shit. He knows the maze perfectly. Knows the dead ends and the pass-throughs. He barks at me urgently.
I follow him, racing around one coil, avoiding paths that go nowhere as the sound of a struggle grows louder.
52
TWIN TRICKS
RIPLEY
The douchebag locks his arm around my neck, my back to his chest as he breathes on me. He smells like patchouli and sandalwood, like he did that night at the hotel bar.
Then, he was just a jerk, not taking no for an answer. Now, he’s a threat.
My pulse is surging, and my brain is racing quickly through escape plans, the ones my grandma taught us. But first…his arm. He’s not cutting off my airway, but he’s coming far too close.
Before I can knock him down or kick him in the balls, I need to turn my head so he doesn’t cut off my air.
“I’ll make this real easy for you two,” he hisses as he sneers at my sister, and in the distance, I hear the scrabble of paws against grass, then footsteps, moving fast.
I don’t know how close they are, and Haven’s eyes are wide, etched with terror—and fury too. “Let her go, you jackass,” she bites out.
“I will. If you do something for me.” As he tries to negotiate whatever the hell he’s doing, I’m focused on one thing—getting enough oxygen that I don’t pass out. Carefully, I turn into his body to relieve the pressure on my airway. “How about you call Chris over here right now?” he says. “So I can get something this time. Now I want my fucking picture.”
Jesus. This guy is desperate.
“No,” I spit out.
“I’d be happy to hurt your sister so you can help me,” he offers to Haven in a faux sweet voice.
Fear charges through me, but so does rage, and I lift a foot to kick him in the shins, but I only clip the edge of his leg.
He dodges the blow, feinting a bit to the side but still keeping that arm around my neck.
“Let her go,” Haven demands as she reaches her hand into her front pocket. Please let that be her mace.
As I work out a better angle to kick the guy, I hear Hudson barking somewhere nearby. I don’t know what my dog will do if he reaches us. He’s a tracker and a lover, but he’s not a fighter.
I don’t let it distract me. I have to focus on fighting.
“One picture, then I’ll let you go,” he says. “Because guess what? I’m not missing the chance this time.”