Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I whisper, “Ozzy.”
Like a prayer.
Like a plea.
The footsteps get closer. Shadows move at the edge of my vision. Shapes appear between stacked pallets, bodies with weapons and gear, moving like a unit.
Then I see him.
Ozzy.
He comes around a steel column, eyes locked on me, face hard with something feral.
Relief hits so fast my vision blurs. A sob tries to break free, but it sticks in my throat because I’m still scared and still tied up and still in a warehouse that smells like death.
“Ozzy,” I breathe, and this time it comes out like a broken sound.
His gaze flicks over me in a quick scan, checking for blood, injuries, anything that will make him lose it. Then his eyes snap to the man beside me.
My father.
Ozzy’s expression changes again, surprise and caution mixing.
Sawyer Maddox steps in behind him, calm and commanding, followed by more men in tactical gear. One of them has a headset. Another has a med kit already out.
“Victim located,” someone says.
Rae’s voice crackles faintly through a speaker somewhere. “Copy. Medical priority on the male if he is critical.”
Ozzy moves to me first, kneeling quickly. His hands are gentle but fast as he cuts the rope at my wrists. The instant it snaps, blood rushes back into my hands, pain blooming like fire.
I hiss.
Ozzy’s eyes narrow. “I’ve got you.” His voice is low and steady.
It makes me want to melt.
I reach for him without thinking, my hands trembling as I grab his jacket. He presses his forehead to mine for half a second, breathing hard, like he’s been holding his breath since the gas station.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I shake my head. “Later.”
He nods like he understands. His eyes stay on mine for one more beat, and then he turns to my father.
Sawyer steps forward, assessing the injuries with a practiced eye. “Arthur Charles?”
My father’s head lifts.
He looks at Sawyer, then at Ozzy, then his gaze slides back to me. “Get me out of here please.”
Sawyer nods. “Roger that.”
Two other men with Sawyer move deeper into the warehouse, checking rooms. A shout echoes from the far side, then a thud, then another voice calling, “Two down. One restrained.”
Ozzy grabs my elbow gently and pulls me closer to him, positioning me behind his body like a shield. My chest tightens because it feels both protective and intimate, like he can’t help himself.
I whisper, “Is it over?”
Ozzy’s voice is low. “Not yet.”
Sawyer nods to Jaxson, who moves to my father with the med kit. He checks the ropes, checks the bruising, checks his pulse.
My father’s breathing’s shallow. His skin’s clammy. His face looks gray under the fluorescent lights.
My stomach drops. “He needs help.”
Sawyer’s voice is firm. “He’s going to get it.”
My father’s gaze locks on mine again, urgent despite his injuries. “Salem,” he rasps out.
I lean closer, my hands shaking. “What?”
His one good eye is fierce. “Remember what I told you. There’s a mole.”
My palms slick with sudden sweat, betraying me before I can hide it.
Ozzy hears it. His face hardens. His eyes flick to Sawyer for a fraction of a second. Sawyer’s jaw tightens, but he does not look surprised. That scares me more than if he had.
Sirens wail faintly in the distance, getting closer. Someone called police. Or backup. Or both.
Sawyer speaks into comms. “Secure the scene. We’re transporting.”
A man they call, Jaxson, cuts my father free, and my father sags forward with a groan. Jaxson catches him, strong and steady, lifting him carefully like he weighs nothing.
My throat tightens. “Dad.” The word slips out before I can stop it.
My father’s head lifts slightly, and his one good eye softens with something that looks like regret.
Ozzy’s hand slides to the back of my neck, grounding me. “We’re taking him to the hospital.”
I swallow hard. “I’m coming.”
“You are,” Ozzy says, and his voice leaves no room for argument.
Outside, the cold air hits my face again. Ambulance lights flash red and blue across the warehouse walls. Officers swarm in.
Sawyer speaks to someone, quick and controlled.
I turn to Ozzy as they guide us toward the ambulance. My wrists throb. My heart races. My brain feels too full. “Ozzy,” I whisper.
He looks at me, eyes fierce. “I’m here.”
I swallow. “My father says someone at Maddox is feeding Serafina information.”
Ozzy’s expression goes still. Hard. A muscle jumps in his jaw. He leans closer, voice low so only I can hear. “He said that?”
I nod, fear crawling up my spine again. “Yes. He thinks the only way Serafina could have known he hired Maddox is if someone inside sold him out.”
Ozzy’s eyes flick to Sawyer, then back to me. His hand tightens on my shoulder like he is anchoring himself. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Then we treat everyone as a question mark until we know who’s clean.”
My breaths come out shallow and ragged, snagging in my chest. “Even your friends?”