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We pretend there isn’t a mob outside, waiting to tear him to pieces and do unthinkable things to me.
When my fear gets the better of me, he catches my chin in his hand, tilts my face up to his and kisses me until I melt in his arms.
And within that hour, I learn that I’m like Mom after all.
I took one look at a rough, jealous convict with gentle hands and primal eyes and fell in love at first sight with Gage Monroe.
7
Monroe
One thing. One small advantage.
That’s all I need and I’ll save my girl.
My mind has been racing for the last hour, searching for something, any chink of sunlight in the fast-darkening landscape of hopelessness.
The filthy animals have only been spurred on by my threats to kill each and every one of them should they lay a hand on my girl.
Yeah, that probably wasn’t my best tactic.
But fuck, she’s mine and I have zero qualms about claiming her.
Unfortunately, enough of them saw her when the guards walked her through to her father’s office earlier—Christ, was it only three hours ago? It feels like a lifetime—and word quickly spread over the prison like wildfire.
My angel has legit caused a prison riot with her exquisite beauty and the wild animals are feral for a piece of her.
Over my dead fucking body.
I realize I’m pumped with fury again when her head lifts off my chest, her worried eyes searching mine.
Fuck, I need to find us a way out of here.
The ping is faint but I hear it.
So does she.
Her gaze drops to her phone, her eyes widening.
I jackknife up, setting her down gently next to me.
“We have cell coverage?” I bark over the loud, relentless barrage.
She plucks one earbud out, her fearful gaze darting to the door before reconnecting with mine. “I…I think so.”
I want to roar with elation and thank every deity in existence, but I hold out my hand instead. “Give me the phone, baby.”
She hands it over. It’s newer than I’m used to but all I need is the phone icon. Pressing it, I dial a number I’d hoped never to call again.
It’ll cost me big but I’ll pay any price if it means Kitty is safe.
“What are you doing? Who are you calling?” she asks, hope filtering through her fear.
I clench my jaw. “Someone I probably shouldn’t.” I listen, twitchy, at the ringing tone. The call is picked up on the sixth ring.
“Who is this and how did you get this number?” the familiar icy male voice barks.
“General Riley. It’s Monroe.”
