Jules crouched between two large pallets then shimmied up another level. The floor had to be twenty feet down. The shelves should hold her. But with the way they groaned and shook as she ran, her confidence waned.
She leaned over. But that wasn’t Sloane below with the gun in her hand. That had been Olivia shooting.
Jules pivoted—and faced Sloane. She jumped back.
Sloane grinned, holding the knife. “Keep going.”
“Enough is enough. No one’s going to say a word.”
“Keep going.” Sloane stepped closer, holding the knife tightly. “Jump.”
Jump? Jules would die. “Enough. Stop.”
Sloane jabbed.
Jules only had another foot of space, maybe less. “Come on, Sloane. This isn’t how we’re going to end this.”
Sloane sliced the blade up. Jules’s adrenaline spiked. Her palms smacked down on Sloane’s forearm. The white-hot pain of the knife sliced into her skin. But Sloane dropped the knife. It clattered through the metal grates of the shelf. Jules shoved Sloane aside and ran.
Blood coated her arms and hands. The pain throbbed. She ducked into an alcove between pallets.
Suddenly, an eruption of noise echoed through the warehouse.
She didn’t trust who it might be. Who else might Sloane have hired? She’d hired people across the damn world to harass her. To nearly rape and kill her.
Jules curled into a ball. Her arm throbbed. Blood gushed between her fingers as she covered the wound with her hand. White noise of adrenaline and her heartbeat screamed in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut.
Shouts echoed from the warehouse floor below. She wouldn’t come out until they’d stopped, until she knew Sloane and Olivia were gone, telling their story about what had happened, maybe even believing Jules wouldn’t want to testify, that she wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of the press like she hadn’t with Jordan Everett.
They were wrong. And she couldn’t wait.
“Jules.” Rhys’s voice echoed through the warehouse like a madman’s. “Where are you?”
She pushed up, her head swimming. Maybe she’d lost more blood than she’d realized. “Rhys.” He hadn’t heard her. “Rhys.” Jules crawled from between the pallets. “Rhys!”
“I’m coming for you, baby.”
Then he was there. It hadn’t taken long for him to find her. Maybe he’d followed her blood. Perhaps he just had a sixth sense about where she was. He’d always kept her safe. Today would be no exception.
She dived into his arms, and Rhys pulled her close, but she cried out in pain.
“My arm.” Jules positioned it against her chest. “Sloane stabbed me. Sloane—”
“They’ve got her. Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.”
“Wes?”
“Aggravated he couldn’t be here tonight to help end this shit storm.”
Her lips quirked. “It’s her. Everything. Her, Olivia, and Tabitha.”
He nodded. “Tell me all about it later. Let’s get you down first.” Rhys raked his gaze over her. “Hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head. “Just my arm.”
Rhys pulled off his shirt and tore the fabric then wrapped it around her forearm to stanch the blood loss. Then far more carefully, he pulled her into his arms. “God, baby, I love you. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
She nodded against his chest. A bubble of emotion caught in her throat. She’d said it before and meant it. Right now, bleeding and shaking on a warehouse shelf, she meant it more. “I love you too.”
