Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He’s been here before.
That matters.
I hear Delaney behind me for half a second.
Then I don’t.
Good.
She’s safer back at the dock.
The runner cuts left toward the fenced service lane and then slips through the gap at the far end where the chain link never got fixed right. I clear it a second later, my shoulder clipping metal hard enough to rip into the leather of my jacket.
He glances back.
That’s his mistake.
I see enough.
Male. Mid-thirties maybe. Beard or shadow. Eyes wide.
He knows exactly who’s chasing him.
I put on speed.
He darts toward the rear of the marina office, tries to angle for the road, but then changes his mind when he realizes I’m going to cut him off.
He veers right instead, toward the rows of dry-stacked boats and the narrow spaces between them. Plenty of places to hide if I were farther back.
I’m not.
He knocks over a crate as he runs. It splinters against the concrete and tools scatter. A wrench skids under my boot. I keep going.
“Stop!” I bark.
He doesn’t.
I gain another few feet.
Then I hear it.
Not him.
Her.
She’s right behind me. Running. Damn, she’s fast.
I don’t look back. Can’t. Won’t. If I take my eyes off him now, I lose him.
“Delaney, stop!” I snap, hoping my voice carries behind me.
She doesn’t.
The runner hears her too. He risks another look over his shoulder. He pushes harder.
He lunges through the last gap between two boats, hits the open concrete behind the service garage, and slips on water. Maybe oil. Doesn’t matter which.
I’m on him before he can recover.
I hit him low and hard, driving my shoulder into his middle and slamming him into the side of the garage. He grunts and catches my ribs with his elbow. I barely feel it.
I pin his wrist, wrench it up behind his back, and shove him face-first into the wall. “Who sent you?”
He thrashes.
I twist harder. “Who sent you?” I repeat.
He sneers through split lips. “Fuck you.”
I slam him once more into the metal. The sound rings out sharp and ugly.
“Samson—” Delaney’s voice.
“Stay back.”
The runner spits blood onto the concrete and tries to twist free.
I shove him harder.
“Watch him,” he snarls, not to me.
To her.
Or about her.
Doesn’t matter.
I tighten my grip. “What were you doing at her building?”
He laughs.
Actual laughter.
“You’re late,” he says.
Something cold moves through me. “Late for what?”
He shakes his head against the metal. “You don’t even know what you broke.”
That hits me low in the gut. Not because I understand it. But because I don’t.
I glance once toward Delaney.
She’s standing a few yards back, her chest rising and falling too fast, hair whipped loose by the wind, her gaze locked on the man under my hand. She should look scared.
She doesn’t.
She looks furious. Beautiful and furious.
Mine.
The thought comes hard and immediate.
I hate it.
I don’t hate it enough.
“Who sent you?” she asks, voice sharp.
The man laughs again and then coughs. “Should’ve stayed away, sweetheart.”
I drive my forearm harder into his spine. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He groans, but there’s something ugly and satisfied in it. “She doesn’t even know, does she?”
Rage curls at the back of my neck. “You don’t get to say another word until you answer me.”
He turns his head as much as my hold allows, just enough to show me the corner of his mouth. He’s smiling. Fucking smiling.
“You want names?” he says. “Ask the lawyer.”
“Which lawyer?” I demand.
He just laughs again.
I drag him backward by the arm and spin him hard enough to face me. His hood falls back. Younger than I thought. Thirty, maybe. A scar along his jaw.
I know the type. He’s not a mastermind. He’s a messenger.
He looks past me and then drives his knee up into my thigh, rips his wrist half free, and swings something silver from his pocket.
A knife. Fuck.
I catch his wrist before he gets the blade up all the way, slam it into the wall once, twice, until his fingers loosen. The knife clatters to the ground.
He goes for my eyes with his free hand.
I block, punch him once in the gut, once in the face, and he drops hard onto one knee.
“Samson!” Delaney again.
The bastard sees her and moves.
Not at me.
At her.
That’s his last mistake.
I hit him before he gets two steps, catch him by the back of the jacket, and throw him into the side of a fuel drum. He crashes into it with a hollow bang, loses balance, and goes down hard.
He scrambles anyway.
I grab the front of his coat and haul him up. “Which lawyer?”
Blood runs from his mouth. He smiles again. Then he jerks sideways, slips out of the coat entirely, and runs.
For half a second, I consider going after him.
Then I look at Delaney.
No.
Not worth it.
Not with her standing here in the open and my blood up enough to kill a man.
I let him go. For now. He disappears between the storage units and the dark beyond them.