Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Without warning, a man loomed up in front of her. A solid wall of pure muscle. There was no mistaking him for anything but the enemy, with his hair falling like sin into his dark, compelling eyes, eyes that were pure ice. He had a thin scar across the top of his forehead. His jaw was strong, the angles and planes of his face all cut sharp and edgy. He was definitely Russian, and he hadn’t even opened his mouth.
He was wearing a combat vest that held a multitude of weapons and ammo. There was a gun in his hand, and he carried it like he knew how to use it. There was no mercy, no compassion in that icy gaze as it slid over her, clearly assessing her. Judging her in her wedding dress, with blood all over her.
Ambrielle attacked first. She wasn’t waiting for a bullet. There was no room for hesitation. She only had one shot at taking him down. He had more than a foot on her in height, and his body looked to be pure muscle. He was armed to the teeth. She hid the knife in her hand as she pushed off with her foot and leapt into the air, getting her body weight behind her for the strike. She hit at a perfect angle, embedding the knife in his neck, or at least she should have. The man casually swatted her away, and the blade broke. Actually broke. It barely penetrated his skin. There was a trickle of blood, but no more than that.
Ambrie landed on her butt, the wedding dress in complete disarray around her. “Damn it, Charlie. Of course your stupid pocketknife would be totally worthless.” She looked up and found herself staring up at the man who was folded over the back of the pew. His eyes were wide open, and he stared at her. Blood dripped macabrely down the edge of the bench seat to the floor. Just under the pew was his gun, where it had dropped from his hand when he’d been shot. Triumph burst through Ambrielle.
She lunged for the gun, expecting the man she’d tried to kill to shoot her at any moment. As she gripped the gun, rolling to keep her gaze on her target, she found him just standing there, looking at her. Not moving. Not trying to defend himself. He had lowered his weapon to his side, those eyes of his on her, observing her every move. A trickle of blood ran down his neck where she’d broken the blade of that worthless pocketknife on him, and he made no move to stop it. He didn’t move, not even when she stood on shaky legs and aimed the gun right at him.
A slow, taunting smile dared her to pull the trigger. He was playing with her. Around them, time tunneled. Why was it so difficult? She knew how to squeeze a trigger. She wasn’t opposed to killing a man and getting out of the chapel. She had to get to Amanda and Adam. She had enough money to hide them away until she could hunt Walker Thompson and rid the world of his vile presence.
The man with the midnight-blue eyes took a step toward her. She shook her head. “Don’t. Just let me leave.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do that, princess. Thompson got away. He’s got his men waiting to pick you up.”
Just the way he said princess set her teeth on edge. She was nobody’s princess. He was asking to be shot. She took a step to the side in an effort to get around him. He countered her move, gliding closer. Too close. So close the barrel of the gun was no more than an inch from his vest, but she still couldn’t make herself pull the trigger. Not when she was looking into his eyes. She’d never seen anyone with eyes like his, and even with all the dead bodies lying around her and the knowledge that he’d killed several of them, and might kill her, there was an unexpected response to him somewhere deep. A clenching that shouldn’t have been. That was obscene and wrong.
“Master, what the hell are you doing?” a voice behind her demanded.
The man in front of her didn’t look up. “Giving her a choice.”
“What the fuck does that mean? Letting her kill you is a choice?”
“Yeah, Savage, it’s a fuckin’ choice. Everyone here had a choice but her. I say she deserves to make at least one choice in this mess.”
Another man burst out laughing as he came up on the other side of her. He had platinum-and-gold hair and was very good-looking even dressed for war. “We came to rescue you, babe. That’s rich that you want to kill the one man who would have taken the place of that bastard Thompson for you.” He reached out and very gently removed the gun from her hand.