Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Chance is already on his feet. Boone jerks upright, reaching instinctively for the weapon under the mattress. Roxie startles awake, her eyes huge. “What’s wrong?”
I meet her gaze. “They’re coming. Tonight instead of tomorrow. They’ve moved up the attack. We’ve got forty-five minutes before they’ll be here.”
30
ROXIE
As we leave the room, I don’t remember walking, only moving fast with Chance’s hand firm around mine as he hustles me down the hallway. It feels like any sound will make something awful happen faster, so I try to control my breathing and fail miserably.
My heart hammers, my palms are slick, but Chance moves like he’s carved from ice showing that he’s focused, controlled, and terrifyingly calm.
The downstairs office door slams behind us. Dillon locks it, crosses the room in two long strides, and shoves the bookcase against the far wall. The hidden panel clicks, and the narrow metal door behind it slides open with a faint, hydraulic hiss.
When I saw it the first time, I joked about how it’s very Doomsday Prepper Chic, but now it feels like jaws swallowing me whole. Chance turns to me, his hands coming to my shoulders and gripping them tight.
“Remember what you promised us, Rox,” he says, his voice serious but unafraid. “Do exactly what we said. You get inside and you stay there. No heroics. No leaving. No exceptions.”
I nod, but my throat is already closing up.
Chance’s large, hot palm moves to my cheek, drawing me out of my momentary terror, and when I refocus on him, he smiles, leaning closer and letting his lips brush mine. Soft at first, then my lips part and his tongue strokes into my mouth, the kiss deepening until it feels like he’s trying to brand the memory into both of us.
I go up on my tiptoes, leaning into him and kissing him back with everything I have, silently begging him not to take any unnecessary risks. Finally, someone clears their throat beside us, and Chance slows the kiss and pulls away.
“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers. “I promise.”
I nod, pretending to believe him, but right now, promises feel as fragile as glass. Neither of us knows what’s coming our way.
Chance steps back, those eyes intent on mine for another beat before he turns. His sharp features fall into shadow as his hands curl into fists at his sides, muscles bunching under his shirt.
Dillon steals my attention from Chance’s retreating form when he kisses my cheek, quick, playful, softer than he’s ever touched me. “The door locks from the inside. You’ll see the feeds. We’ll keep these assholes away from you.”
He sends me a smirk that lacks his usual confidence, but I don’t let on that I notice. “Hey, try to have some fun in there, okay? We plan on putting on a good show for you and there are snacks. If I’m not mistaken, there may even be popcorn.”
I chuckle softly, lifting my hand to rake it through his sandy hair as I take a step closer to him, not missing the way he leans his head into my touch. “Be safe out there, please. Follow Chance’s lead and look out for one another.”
“We always do,” Boone answers while stepping in and giving kissing my temple. “The all-clear code is ‘Miracle.’” He looks intently into my eyes. “Do not open that door for anyone or anything until you hear one of us give that code.”
My eyebrows lift. “Miracle?”
He nods once. “It’s what we’ve started calling the babies.”
That one sentence nearly takes me down. I’m barely even ten weeks along, and the real miracle is that all three men love these tiny people-to-be like they already have names, faces, and whole futures to protect.
Chance strides back over to us. He motions me backward until I’m inside the safe room, then hits the panel without another word.
Immediately, the door starts moving, sealing me in with a heavy thud and cutting off every sight and sound from outside. The world shrinks to steel walls, recycled air, and four monitors showing the house from different angles.
My hands shake as I stare at the screens, but already, my men are moving like they were born for this. Boone strides through the living room with his shoulders squared and his jaw locked.
Controlled. Efficient. A fighter who knows exactly how much violence it takes to end this threat.
Chance crouches behind the kitchen island, checking sight lines from every window with a cold, stoic kind of detachment.
Dillon scans the cameras on his tablet, muttering but focused. He looks like he’s gearing up to play some high-stakes video game he fully intends to win.
A few minutes later, I sit down in front of the bank of monitors, one hand pressed to my stomach, the other braced against the table as I lean forward. Five attackers appear on one of the screens, approaching through the trees with their tactical gear dark against the snow.