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CHAPTER1
Cannon
Penelope’s not only gone,but she thinks I’m a greedy liar who’s going to murder her.
That pisses me off more than the gun in my face.
I’m on my knees, by an open trunk, the gun aimed between my eyes.
Then the white van arrives.
As I watch it bumping down the uneven road toward us, I grind my teeth together. It’s the same van I saw when we were parked at the gas station. How did these guys follow me and I didn’t notice?
Did they track my vehicle? They can’t track my phone—
Penelope’s fucking phone. Roman knows where she’s at every second of the day. How did I not think about that?
Because it didn’t matter in town. It didn’t matter if he knew she was at the studio or her mom’s place.
I lost my head. I didn’t pay attention. Now I’m going to pay the price and so will Penelope. Roman’s not done with her, not if he’s going through all this to get her back. Not if I’m still alive.
He’s got plans. And I’m back to square one. Finding out what the fuck he wants.
All I’m confident of, and what I don’t have proof of, is that Roman is using Penelope. Whether he truly wants her dead is a looming question, but there’s no doubt he means to use her.
The van approaches. And when the guy with the gun turns to look, I make my move.
I lunge and grab him around the knees. He’s surprised and the gun goes off, shooting somewhere above my head. I keep my momentum going and twist. He can’t regain his balance and falls.
Scrambling up his body, I grab a fistful of hair and bang his head to the ground.
He groans, but my surprise advantage is gone. I’m unarmed, and I have no idea how many people are in that van. I have to get away. I send my fist into his jaw, jump up, and kick him in the side.
Then I fucking run. Whatever they have planned for me isn’t a simple death.
Roman’s shown me he’s too devious for that. He can’t frame me as Penelope’s stalker if I was paid four million to kill her. He can’t frame me for her murder if I look like a hired hit man. I have no doubt he’s going to frame me for something, but he needs time. I’m not giving it to him.
I shed my brightly colored shirt as I go. I’m in nothing but cargo shorts, but it’s better camouflage than palm trees on a red background.
Old training kicks in and I make good progress, ducking and diving through trees.
Shouts resonate and get swallowed by the trees behind me. They’re charging after me, but I’m not going to be easy to chase.
I pick up my pace. It’s not that I have a ton of experience running in woods or forests. It’s that I have speed and balance, and I doubt the fuckers behind me are as equipped.
Wood chunks fly off a tree trunk just as the gunshot rings out.
I keep running. The farther away I get, the harder it’ll be for them to hit me. They can’t aim and run, which’ll only give me more lead.
My chest is on fire, but I use everything I have—energy, agility, brains. I duck through trees, plow over uneven land, and weave through it all. Blue glitters from between the trees. A small lake or pond is straight ahead, and that means the trees will start thinning.
I slow and angle around the water. I switch my tactic from fast and furious to low and quiet.
Voices drift toward me, but they can no longer hear me crashing through branches and trees.
Burning and tingling along my arms and chest barely enter my consciousness. I’m scratched to hell and bleeding.
I stop and crouch to look through the trees. My body’s flooded with adrenaline and I’m tempted to keep running, but I have to be smart about this. I fucked up once already; it’s not happening again.
