Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
All four guards are dead, and they’re still warm. Not cooling or stiff. Heat clings to skin, the blood fresh. Whatever happened here is breathing down my neck.
My eyes lift.
The break room door stands open. Blood trails toward it. Or from it? Footprints overlap, in and out.
If Jag is in there…
My pulse roars in my ears as I step closer, every sense on high alert. I brace for anything. Another body, a final stand, Jag on the floor with his throat torn open.
I push the door fully open.
More blood.
A knocked-over table.
No Jag.
He isn’t here, and neither is his duffel bag. The corner, where the bag sat only hours earlier, is empty.
He left.
And everyone between him and the exit paid for it.
Dove.
She flashes through my head like a siren, and my phone is in my hand before I realize it.
My thumb shakes against the screen as I swipe to call her security team. But before I connect, the screen flashes with an incoming call.
GI Joe Carl
“Carl.” I sheathe the knife in my boot and head to the door. “Jag’s gone. Guards are dead. Move Dove. Now! Get her to the yacht—”
“Sir,” Carl snaps. “She already left.”
“What?” I stumble onto the sidewalk.
“She said she didn’t feel well and wanted to head back to the yacht to wait for you. That’s why I’m calling. We initiated a location change and have eyes on her.”
“The entire security team is with her?”
“Affirmative, sir. Did you say Mr. Rath is gone? And the guards—?”
“Rath is gone. Guards are dead.” The phone bounces against my ear as I tear down the street. “I’m coming to you. Where exactly—?”
“Hold on.” An explosion of wrong sounds blasts through the line. Wind. Shouting. Footsteps pounding.
My pulse skyrockets, and I pick up my pace.
“Shit! She’s running.” Carl barks commands at his team, panting. “She bolted. Took off through the harbor. She shook the two closest guys—”
“Why is she running?” I shout, sprinting down the street. “Where is she?”
The sidewalk blurs. The sky tilts. My boots slam pavement hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“Where is she?” I yell.
“Heading east through the docks,” Carl wheezes. “Near the fish processors.”
I cut corners, and people shout as I shove past them. Someone curses. Someone stumbles. I don’t slow down. My lungs burn. My legs scream. I push harder.
“She’s fast.” Carl’s footfalls pound through the phone. “Jesus, she’s fast.”
My chest locks up with fear so sharp it tries to fold me in half.
Why is she running? Something must’ve spooked her.
“Carl,” I gasp. “If he gets anywhere near her—”
“We won’t lose her.” His voice cracks. “You hear me? We’re not—”
I disconnect as the pier comes into view. Wood planks, rocking boats, rigging clattering like bones… I scan the throngs of people as the harbor clangs in my ears.
“Dove!” I yell into the crowd and the air and the universe like she might hear me through sheer force. “Dove!”
Then I see it.
A flash of blue a few docks down. Just a glimmer, just enough to hook my spine and yank.
“Dove!” I tear toward it, running faster than I ever have in my life. Faster than fear. Faster than thought. Faster than anything Jag Rath ever planned for.
My boots strike the planks, lungs shredding and vision tunneling as I scream her name.
“Dove! Stop!” As I close the distance, a speedboat slides in beside her, smooth and wrong, entirely out of place.
She keeps her back to me, and my panic goes feral.
“Dove!” I roar again. “Look at me!”
She doesn’t.
What the hell is her problem?
The crowd shifts, giving me a quick glimpse of her feet. She switched her skates for sneakers. Plain white sneakers I’ve never seen before. And the flannel shirt draped over her? It hangs to her knees, swallowing her frame.
My stomach free-falls.
All of this feels wrong.
The boat nudges the dock, and she jumps without hesitation, landing on the seat beside a man I’ve never seen in my life. Nondescript. Forgettable. Built to disappear.
Who the fuck is that?
He cranks the throttle.
“No! Nooooo!” I hit the end of the dock as the boat surges forward, water exploding behind it.
I scream until my throat bleeds, and my voice fractures.
The wind whips her hard as they take off, and her blue hair lifts. Then it peels away, sails clean off her head, and spirals into the harbor.
A wig.
It hits the water and spreads, bright and false against the dark chop.
My heart stops as she turns to watch it sink. Then her eyes lift and find me.
Not Dove’s eyes.
Similar features. Similar coloring. Same height and build, maybe. But wrong in every place that matters. Her hair is brown, and her gaze is empty of recognition, empty of anything at all.
Not Dove.
A decoy.
A distraction.
My blood turns ice-cold as the truth detonates in my chest.
Dove is still at the mechanic shop.
Alone.
Unprotected.
Dread curdles. Fear pummels. I spin on my heel and run.