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“They will eventually get in unless I stop them.”
“You’re one person. You can’t compete with an army.”
“Five guys ain’t an army.” His eyes narrow and he tilts his gun before shooting another slew of bullets. “And now we’re down to four.”
I crack each knuckle on the fingers of my good hand, avoiding the ones on my bad one because my whole arm hurts too damn much to make a move after being thrown around in the seat.
“I really hate it when you do that.” Zak levels me with a side glare. “I always did.”
“I know. So hurry up and get back here so you can punish me for it,” I seethe through clenched teeth.
Zak looks in his rearview mirror and lets out a frustrated sigh before grabbing a second gun and sticking it in his pants. He pushes open the door, and crouching low, he creeps into the road using the door as a shield.
A wedding day is supposed to be the happiest day of a girl’s life. Yet here I am, kidnapped and half-naked, stuffed on the floor of a truck, praying my heartless, ruthless captor and I don’t die even though the alternative of marriage with Tyson Van Dyne would be a fate far worse than death.
I coddle my injured arm, wincing in pain when my fingertips gently graze the wound. That animal definitely busted the stitches before.
Please, please, please let him get back here alive so I can finally get my chance to land a punch against his gorgeous, demonic face.
An explosion that shakes the whole front of Zak’s truck jars me. The passenger side dips low. I scream so loud, I practically burst my own eardrums, and if Zak’s windshield wasn’t made of super secure armored glass, I bet the sound would have shattered it before any bullet ever could. The pungent smell of burning rubber attacks my nose and makes my gut wrench. My eyes burn, heart thundering against my chest.
Fire. Fire!
I peek out from under the dashboard. Dark plumes of smoke outside of the car wind their way into the sky.
Holy shit, it’s on fire. The truck is on fire and I’m stuck in here by myself while Zak takes on whoever the hell is trying to kill him.
A knot of tears forms in my throat. It’s not my damn time. I can’t stay cooped up in here, waiting for it to go up in flames like my father’s plans for my life.
I crawl up to the seat and push open the door. Thick, humid air chokes me, but I can breathe free.
For now.
Slithering my way out of the truck, I peek left and right. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. All the action is taking place on the other side of the truck. I use my hand to navigate down to the ground, but it slips out from under me and I tumble off the running board, getting a face full of gravel in the process. Bits of rock and sand stick to my face. I push off the ground, sharp edges scraping my palms.
Before I can even look up, another car speeds around a corner, brakes squealing as it just narrowly misses the back bumper of Zak’s truck.
Nik. He came, thank God.
I stagger to my feet, careful to keep myself hunched over in case more bullets fly in my direction. They’re still popping into the air. I squat down, backing away from the open door and toward the white Dodge Challenger behind me, the same one that was parked out in front of Nik’s house when we pulled up.
“Skyla, no!”
Zak?
I twist around.
Big freaking mistake.
A strong hand grips the back of my hair and pulls me close. The heels of my feet scrape against the gravel. My stomach roils at the noxious smell of sweat and body odor caught in my nose. Raspy breaths against my ear make me cringe. I can actually feel his sweat drip onto my skin, burning my flesh like it’s acid.
“Don’t bother,” he grunts. “It’s too late for you. Too late for all of you.”
I struggle, elbowing my assailant with my un-slung elbow, but I bet he can’t even feel it through the layers of fat around his midsection. With my back pressed against his chest, he holds out in front of my face what looks like a hunting knife. My heart drops into free-fall mode, eyes tracing over the jagged, serrated edge.
More bullets crack into the air, but my focus is only on the gleaming metal that looks as if it could slice me in half.
“P-please…” I whisper as he brings the blade to the side of my face. He drags the edge against my cheek and I squeeze my eyes shut. For all I know, he’s going to cut them out of my skull. “My father—”
