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One hellbent on winning at all costs.
His chest heaves when he sees me. His eyes grow even more feral, but a film of resolution settles deeper into his face. “Mine,” he declares, low and deadly.
With a blood-curdling roar, he yanks up the man crawling toward me with savage intent in his eyes, and tosses him out into the other room.
The fresh sound of fists meeting flesh is horrifying.
I squeeze my eyes shut and scream until my throat is raw, realizing that I no longer fear for myself but for Monroe.
He’s outnumbered and unarmed. And yet he’s gone out there to protect me. My lips move faster in fevered prayers, but just as quickly the tiny hope I’ve fanned to life dwindles.
I can do the math.
The odds of Monroe fighting his way through however many inmates are out there, determined to get their hands on the warden’s daughter, feels far too great to overcome.
Will I see him alive again?
Oh God. A sob rips through me, the buzzing dread in my head growing louder and louder and?—
“Miss?”
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, reaching deeper for the hope and faith I know I need to have. Maybe if I utter these new, impossible but viscerally real feelings aloud, the universe might have mercy.
“I love him,” I mutter. Then, my soul shaking with the profound feelings, I state my truth louder. “I love him!”
“Miss?”
“I love him. Please let him live. I love him!”
“Miss!”
The firm voice penetrates and even though I know it’s not Monroe’s deep, sexy and grounding voice, I pry my eyes open, fearing the worst.
Then scream at the man dressed from head to toe in black, a deadly-looking gun angled across his body, its muzzle faintly smoking.
He takes a hurried step back but holds out his hand. “It’s okay, miss. You’re safe now.”
My gaze shoots past him. “Monroe? Where is he? Monroe!” I scramble up, almost sending him sprawling in my haste to get past him. The armed man’s hand darts out but my momentum drags us both toward the bathroom door.
The sight before me stalls my feet, freezing my whole body as I gape in horror.
Several inmates are in arm and leg shackles, every single one bloody and maimed in some way.
Two are slumped over in a way that I’m sure means they’re no longer breathing, and every piece of furniture and window that was upright and intact when I left is now completely destroyed.
My gaze tears around the carnage and return to the slumped over inmates. Both big. Both heavily tattooed. Both with long hair.
Oh God. Could one of them be…no, no no no!
Nausea rushes up my throat as I stumble to the nearest one, heart in my mouth.
Half a step from the nearest body, an arm wraps around my waist and I’m lifted off my feet.
I immediately scramble at his hand, fighting to be freed. “No, let me go. I…I need to see?—”
“Get your fucking hands off her!”
Relief slams into me at the ferocious roar.
