Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I’m not going as Police Officer Rush.
I’m going as her man.
And I don’t want any witnesses.
My cruiser fishtails as I take a corner hard, sirens blaring through the quiet mountain town. I’m already doing eighty by the time I arrive at the ramp to the highway.
I’m going to catch up to this bastard if it’s the last thing I do.
The dark highway stretches out ahead of me, long and empty under the moonlight. I grip the wheel tight and hit the gas. The engine roars as I fly forward.
“I’m coming for you, asshole.”
Lucy is a sweetheart. She doesn’t deserve this.
She deserves peace. She deserves a life where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder every five minutes. She deserves a man who’ll burn the world down before he lets anyone hurt her.
I’ll be that man for her. I’ll be her protector.
I’ll keep her safe from the world forever.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lucy
“Sandra!” I shout as I burst through the door. “Sandra!”
She comes rushing over with tears in her puffy eyes. Even Rocky looks devastated as he runs over with his head hung low and his tail between his legs.
“I’m so sorry,” she says between sobs. “I didn’t know he was out there.”
I wrap my arms around her and cry too, hoping my best friend is okay.
“Did you call the police?” she asks, pulling away from me.
“Emmanuel is on it,” I say, feeling a burst of optimism just thinking about the intensity in his eyes when I told him what happened.
If anyone can get Cutter back, it’s him.
CHAPTER NINE
Emmanuel
I squeeze the steering wheel when I see the bastard a half mile ahead—huge Escalade with the patchy camo wrap, like that’s gonna hide him from me.
My lights are off. My siren quiet.
I don’t want to pull him over. I doubt he’ll stop and the last thing I want is a high-speed chase that will put Cutter in danger.
So I just cruise on by with my pulse racing. I try to look into his truck, but the windows are tinted way too dark. If they weren’t, I bet I’d see a familiar furry face lying on the backseat.
My car rolls forward and I get a glimpse of the man who’s making my jaw clench. Angelo is smoking a cigarette with the windows cracked. My eyes narrow on the scorpion tattooed on his neck.
“Motherfucker,” I whisper as I tear my badge off my chest and drop it onto the passenger seat. No more rules. This isn’t about the law. It’s about revenge. “You’re so dead.”
He glances at me and sucks his teeth. I grit my teeth and speed up.
It’s time to see what this car can do. Luckily, he slows down so I don’t pull him over, which allows me to race ahead.
I get a good mile or two in front of him—right at the perfect spot beside the cliffs—before I skid to a stop on the shoulder and leap out of my car with my heart pounding.
I keep my eyes down the dark empty highway as I rush to my trunk, pull out the spike strips, and haul ass to the pavement.
I kept note of the cars I passed after seeing Angelo. One car passes, then another.
He’s up next.
I crouch low, breathing steady, hands gripping the metal as he approaches.
Closer…
Closer…
I launch the strips across the highway with a grunt right before his headlights pass. He slams on the brakes when he sees them, but it’s too late. He’s going too fast. Sparks fly as Angelo’s Escalade hits it at full speed. His truck swerves. The tires screech and hiss.
He tries to gun it, but he’s rolling on his rims and he quickly loses control, sparks flying everywhere. I sprint over as the truck crashes onto the shoulder, nearly tipping over before coming to an abrupt stop.
The headlights are shining against the mountain when I get there, breathing heavily and worried that something happened to Cutter. He means so much to Lucy and I made a promise that I’d get him home alive. That’s one promise I need to fulfill.
I’m about to open the back door to check on the dog when the driver’s door bursts open and Angelo stumbles out, dazed with blood pouring from a cut on his nose. He’s got a wild look in his eyes.
And a gun in his hand.
He points it at me and fires.
The shot whistles past my head.
I don’t flinch. I just move.
I pull out my baton and smash it across his face.
He spins and stumbles into his truck, dropping the gun with a grunt. I snatch it up, take it apart in two seconds, and then launch the pieces over the cliff on the other side of the highway.
“Fucking pig,” he says as he takes a swing at me.
He’s too slow. Too weak.
I block his pathetic punch with my forearm and slap him across the face.