Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
I turn the corner, and my eyes adjust instantly.
Who screamed, and why?
I see it all in seconds—two men. They’re vaguely familiar, though I can't place them.
One holds a struggling figure who's fighting with everything he's got, while the other pulls a black bag over his head. They work in sync, wasting no time. Professionals.
They haven't seen me yet. Good.
The figure they're trying to kidnap is slight, small enough to be a teenager, but I can't see their face with the bag half over their head.
“For fuck's sake, hurry,” one growls. “The goddamn McCarthy fight got out.”
“Thought it'd be easier!” the other snarls.
We're in McCarthy family territory. This is my turf. Could be anyone, someone I fuckin' know for Christ's sake.
I don't think. I move.
The first man doesn't even see me coming. I hit him full force, shoulder to his ribs, and he goes down like a sack of shite.
The second one drops his victim and reaches for something, but I'm faster. I grab his wrist, twist it until I hear the snap, and drive my fist into his face so hard bone snaps.
He crumples.
The adrenaline from the fight still pumps through my veins, sharper now, hotter. These fuckers tried to take somebody… in our territory. Tried to hurt somebody younger, smaller, innocent.
Big fucking mistake.
I grab the first man by the collar and haul him up. He's conscious, barely, blood pouring from his nose. In my peripheral vision, the hooded kid scrambles to his feet.
“Who sent you? Who are you?”
I don't recognize the bastard. He spits blood at me.
I hold him by the shoulders and slam him against the brick wall hard enough that his head cracks and bounces.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
“Fuck you,” he wheezes out.
I'm about to hit him again when I remember the victim. I glance over my shoulder and freeze. It’s a kid dressed all in black, backed up against the opposite wall, with wide, terrified eyes.
I turn back to the arsehole. I want to slit his throat right here, right now, in front of somebody who could report me.
The man in my grip tries to twist away while I'm distracted, but instinct takes over. I drive my knee into his stomach and let him drop.
He stays down.
Behind me, one of the men groans. I glance back and see him trying to crawl away. Without thinking, I step on his hand, grinding his fingers into the pavement until he screams.
When I look back, the boy has pressed himself flat against the wall.
Fuck. I'm not helping the situation. I haven’t given these arseholes half of what they deserve, but the lad's seen enough.
“Go,” I tell him. “Get out of here. Find somewhere with people. Somewhere bright.” He shouldn't be out here fucking alone at night.
He doesn't move. Of course he doesn't. Probably terrified.
The clouds shift. Moonlight catches pale skin, dark hair spilled loose from a braid, and I go very, very still.
Not a boy.
Christ. Not a boy at all.
I take her in the way a man inventories a threat, except she's… the opposite of a threat. She's soft and slight, bleeding from a cut on her cheek.
She's no older than eighteen, with wide blue eyes as deep as a winter night, staring straight back at me. There’s a scrape on her cheek, angry and red, welling with fresh blood. My vision tunnels.
They hit her. Those bastards put their hands on her and hit her hard enough to break skin.
My hands shake from something I don’t have words for.
The lass looks like she stepped straight out of a fairy tale, all dark hair and pale skin and red lips, with those wide, innocent eyes…
And me? She's staring at me like I'm the monster.
To be fair, I probably look like one, covered in blood—some mine, most not. Knuckles split. Shaved head. Scars. Ink.
And I've got some bastard slammed against the wall.
She's too young to be here. Too young to be caught up in whatever the fuck this is. Too young to be alone. My chest tightens, and I make a fist.
“Y’alright, lass?” I ask, my voice rough.
She doesn't answer, just stares. Still in shock, maybe. Can't blame her.
“I'm not gonna hurt you,” I say. “Do you know who these bastards are?”
Over my shoulder, I hear an engine. Bollocks. They've got backup. Course they fuckin' do.
“Hey—” I growl.
Gunshots ring out. Jesus.
I release the arsehole and lunge for the girl, slamming us both to the ground. My body covers hers, a shield of muscle and bone, as bullets spark off the brick above us. The two men scramble into the car, tires squealing as they tear off into the night.
Fuck.
I push myself up slightly, still shielding her. “Did you know who they were?”
I didn't get fucking anything on them.
She shakes her head slowly, those dark-blue eyes as deep and endless as the ocean, locked on mine.