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I had to believe that they would still be here. I had to. The alternative was too awful to think about.
I watched in rapt fascination as Ryder and Ronan disappeared around the back of the house, shadows eating them up. Swallowing them whole.
I could feel each heartbeat pounding against my rib cage. It wasn’t the standard ba-dum, but a flurry of activity as thousands of butterflies threatened to break free. I couldn’t quite understand this emotion.
It wasn’t hope, not really, but something else. Something deeper and more intense that caused goosebumps to pepper over my skin. My leg moved anxiously, jerking up and down, up and down. My unease seemed to be physically manifesting itself; I couldn’t stay still. Couldn’t breathe.
My mind conjured up images of Fallon and Declan.
Fallon’s golden brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, his eyes trained intensely on me. It had once been unnerving to have that undivided attention on me, but now I couldn’t imagine life without it. Without him.
Declan’s brown hair, longer on the top and shorter on the sides. The perpetual smirk etched onto his face. Those eyes of his that tracked my every movement.
“They’ll be here,” Tamson said, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me or himself.
I willed myself to calm down, but my heart continued to battle with, race against, my thoughts.
Deep breaths.
In.
And out.
In.
And out.
In.
The passenger side door opened, and I was wrenched out of my seat, dropping unceremoniously onto the asphalt. I scrambled to my feet, but rough hands jerked me against a soft chest. Tamson shouted, unbuckling and crawling over the center console. Asher was already out of the car, gun raised and aimed at the intruder.
I felt something cold press against my neck.
A knife, I realized dizzily.
I was so damn tired of being held at knifepoint.
“Lower your weapons,” a voice said coldly. It was low and raspy, but the feminine lilt was undeniable.
Another figure emerged from the shadows pointing a gun at Asher’s head. My blond-haired lover tensed, but he refused to lower his own gun. The tension in the air was almost palpable, waves of electricity setting my skin ablaze.
Tamson didn’t have a weapon, but his fists were raised. Tam was a skilled mixed martial artist, and I had no doubt he would be a deadly foe against even the worst of weapons.
“Drop your knife,” Asher countered. Dark. Deadly. Dangerous.
Sexy.
Not the time, kinky bitch.
A third figure marched forward, and Tamson shifted his attention to him.
“Lower your fucking weapons,” the new man said gruffly. He had a hint of an accent in his voice, but I couldn’t discern from where.
Asher, Tam, and I all exchanged looks as we weighed our options. On one hand, I trusted my men’s skills to get us out of this situation. On the other, I wasn’t sure even Asher, as skilled as he was with a gun, could put a bullet in between my captor’s eyes before the knife cut skin.
The fight didn’t drain from their eyes, both men were too proud and pissed for that, but Asher reluctantly lowered his gun to the ground as Tam dropped his fists. They practically radiated rage, an incandescent flame burning hotly beneath the surface. The flame would lead to an inferno, a wildfire, I knew, if we didn’t get out of this situation.
But I was tired, so damn tired, of being the damsel in distress. First Liz, and then the asshole who shot me. Never again.
