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Declan was cocky, but I trusted him.
The knot in my stomach tightened, the anxiety gnawing at me, an incessant reminder of the precarious position we were in.
Suddenly, a loud knock jolted me out of my dark thoughts. My heart skipped a beat. Declan?
I scrambled to my feet, stumbling in my haste to reach the door. I yanked it open, a breathless greeting already forming on my lips. But the sight that met my eyes was far from the relief I was hoping for.
There, standing on the porch, was a man I didn’t recognize. His expression was harsh, eyes cold and unfeeling. And in his hand, pointed directly at my chest, was the gleaming barrel of a gun.
Fear gripped me, an icy chill spreading through my veins. I stood there, frozen, my breath caught in my throat as I stared into the dark abyss of the gun barrel.
Avery’s gasp filled the small hallway, a chilling harmony to the pounding of my heart. Her voice was a trembling whisper, loaded with bravado she did not feel. “Who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t so much as flinch. His stare was a deadly weapon in itself, shifting toward Avery before settling back on me. “That’s none of your concern, girlie,” he grumbled, his voice was like a rock slide down a mountain. “You,” he commanded, jabbing the gun toward me, “you’re coming with me.”
Avery launched herself forward, a protective wall between the man and me. “No way in hell!” she spat, venomous. But her body shook, and her eyes flared with terror beneath her defiance.
With a growl that was more beast than man, he swiveled the gun toward Avery, the barrel gleaming menacingly under the dull hallway lights. “Stay put or I’ll put you down right here, right now,” he hissed.
Terror coiled around my heart like a vise, squeezing till I couldn’t breathe. The taste of salt hit my tongue as a tear slid down my cheek, unchecked, unnoticed. In that moment, the world narrowed down to the icy metal of the gun, the sneering man, and the precious life of my sister hanging in the balance.
“I’m . . . I’m coming,” I stammered, forcing my numb legs to move. As if she were released from a spell, Avery’s fingers slackened, falling from my arm. Her eyes were wide, pleading. I met her gaze and nodded—a silent promise. I was walking into the lion’s den, but I was doing it on my own terms. For her. I was the one knee-deep in this mess of bloodshed. I’d save her. I’dalwayssave her.
With a grunt that sounded oddly pleased, the man stepped aside, gesturing with the gun for me to move past him. His lips pulled back in a snarl of a smile; the eyes, however, were empty and deadly.
I took a deep breath, turning one last time to look at Avery. I memorized the fear in her eyes, the determination on her face, the way her lips moved as she mouthed “be careful.” It would be my lifeline in whatever was about to come. Then, with a shudder of terror, I stepped out into the swallowing darkness.
The cab of the truck reeked of oil and smoke, a potent mix that made me choke. He grunted and gestured with the gun again, this time for me to buckle up. His demeanor was all cold detachment and efficiency, as if kidnapping were second nature to him.
He was older, maybe in his late fifties. His face was a roadmap of lines and scars, each etching a story that I was sure was darker than the last. Despite the gruff exterior, there was a familiarity about him that I couldn’t shake. The shape of his nose, the squareness of his jaw—it stirred something in me, a deep-rooted memory I couldn’t quite grasp.
“Who are you?” I blurted, my voice sounding small in the cold, metallic confines of the truck.
He grunted, a noise that vibrated deep in his chest. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners, girl?” His tone was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement there, too.
“I . . . I think I know you,” I ventured. “You look . . . familiar.”
He glanced at me, his eyes sharp beneath the bushy brows. For a moment, there was a flicker of something akin to surprise before it was quickly masked. He nodded. “Yeah, you probably do. Knew your father. Knew him well.”
Father? He knew my father? “What’s your name?” I demanded, trying to keep my voice firm.
He gave a chuckle, more of a bark really, and finally turned to look at me. His eyes bore into mine, a cold blue that mirrored the chill running through me. “Name’s Jim,” he said, his voice low and rough, “Jim Harlow.”
My heart froze. Harlow. That name, it was like a ghost from the past. My father’s past.
“You used to ride bulls for Nightfall,” I said.
He smirked. “I was a better rider than your father. But he had no loyalty. The moment he got sponsors, he was out of there. Guess he was smarter than me.”
I swallowed. “Did Hank send you?”
He shook his head. “Hankwarnedme. Said trouble was brewing. Said I made too many enemies in my younger years.”
“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?” I asked, my heart racing.
Jim took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the road. “I was jealous of your father,” he confessed, the words slipping from his lips with a bitterness that surprised me. “I thought he was the golden boy, got everything handed to him on a silver platter. And that drove me mad.”
His confession was a naked truth that I was struggling to process. I had known my father had left Nightfall, but to hear Jim’s side of the story . . . It felt as if I were peeling back layers, revealing a side of my father I never knew.
