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Marc’s grim face hardened. “The fuck do you mean gone?” From the look on his face, he expected the worst. So did I. I didn’t know these people. But I knew loss. Since my mother’s death when I was only sixteen, I was never the same. The pain changed me.
“We had a fucking fight, it was bad, and she just—”
Marc let out a string of curses that made me wince. “She what?” he growled.
It took a moment too long before Johnny replied. “Ran. Said she is going to Ireland. I’m going after her.”
Another onslaught of words I never knew existed. Then what he said next surprised me. “I can’t let you do that.”
Johnny scoffed. “I’m not asking your fucking permission, Marc.”
“Then what the fuck do you want from me?”
The sound of a closed line echoed in the car, and I shook my head at his coldness.
“Really?” I blurted before he had a chance to think. “What the hell was that?”
Marc muttered under his breath, punching the wheel hard enough to sound the horn. “Fuck him and his goddamn—” He bit back the rest, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he intended to say. “I swear, I leave him for one minute…” Marc shot me an exasperated look. “I should have known he’d never stay on the farm.”
“The farm?”
“Bree. His girl. She has this horse farm…” He sighed, shaking his head in defeat. “I should be there.”
I nodded, uncertain of what to do. Did this mean he was ready to dump me and run off to his real client? The thought of it made me want to cry. Still, I heard myself saying, “Go, he needs you.”
Marc let out a sharp laugh. “And ditch you here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?”
“I can go with you,” I said in a small voice. “Tell my father there was an emergency. I’m sure he’ll understand.” I wasn’t. In fact, I was certain he wouldn’t give a damn about Marc’s personal life. All he cared about was getting me to my destination at the exact time. Not a day later.
“Sure he wouldn’t.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and I grimaced.
I was about to tell him to at least call the poor guy back when my eyes landed on cars blocking the road.
“Watch out!” I shrieked the moment he slammed on the brake. The car came to a sliding halt, just barely crashing into the vehicles. I grasped the door, ready to get out, but Marc grabbed my arm.
My eyes shot to him, then to the two cars collided in front of us. One was knocked to its side. White steam rose from the hood, and the smell of gasoline reached my nose. The other vehicle, a heavy black SUV, stood firm. The only damage was a huge dent in the front and a cracked windshield.
“There could be people who need help!” I yanked at my arm, but his grip was firm enough to leave bruises.
Marc didn’t say a word. Instead, he used his free hand to dial 911, never letting my arm go as he reported the accident.
“Let go,” I hissed after he hung up. “You’re hurting me.”
He eased off on the pressure, but not fully releasing me. “We wait here.”
“Why would—” The words broke into a shriek as a person appeared next to our car. He stood right outside my window, like a black shadow, looking down at me.
Marc’s eyes darted to him, then to the back mirror, and a string of curses slipped past his lips. My eyes widened. Not knowing what to expect, I remained frozen in my seat as he let go of my arm, and in the same fluid motion, jerked the car into reverse. I gasped as he nearly hit the man outside my window. He jumped away as the car turned, and before it moved out of sight, I caught his eyes. Something in that dark gaze sent chills down my spine. It was cold. Predatory.
“Marc,” I breathed, needing him to see it too.
He cursed, and my eyes darted to the road stretching out before the car. A group of men filtered out from between the trees, stepping onto the road and blocking the escape route. Marc’s grip tightened around the wheel. His steel eyes locked on the row of black-clad copies with a determination that made chills shoot up my spine. The men approached the car, and Marc tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white.
“What are you doing?” I yelled as the car rolled forward. “You’ll hit them!”
Marc hesitated, letting the engine roar while he decided. “It’s a trap,” he growled. “I have no choice.”
“What do they want?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious.Me. They wanted me.
