“You don’t want to do this, Millie,” he growled.
“You have no clue what I want or don’t want.” She gripped it tighter, wondering if she really had the courage to pull the trigger.
She knew she did—but she’d only do so if absolutely necessary.
Then she heard, “Millie!”
Caleb. That was Caleb.
Relief flooded through her so fast her knees buckled. “I’m here! Caleb, I’m here!”
Caleb emerged from the trees, his weapon drawn. “Step away from her.”
His appearance distracted Millie just enough that Garrick grabbed her. Yanked the gun from her hands.
“No . . .” she muttered.
He pulled her against his chest, using her as a shield. His arm locked around her throat, and his gun pressed against the side of her head.
“Stay back!” Garrick shouted. “Stay back, or I’ll?—”
“You’ll what?” Caleb moved closer, his gun trained on Garrick. “Hurt her? You’ve already done that.”
“She’s mine,” Garrick growled.
“She’s not your anything.” Caleb took another step. “Let. Her. Go.”
Garrick’s arm tightened. Millie gasped, her airway constricting.
“Caleb—” she choked out.
“I know.” His eyes met hers. Steady. Certain. “Trust me.”
She did. She realized, in that moment, that she did.
“Last chance,” Caleb said to Garrick. “Let her go or I put you down.”
“You won’t shoot. Not with her this close.”
Caleb’s expression didn’t change. “Try me.”
For a moment, everything went still.
Then Garrick shoved Millie forward—hard—and bolted.
Millie hit the ground, the air knocking from her lungs.
Caleb was beside her in an instant, his hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
She nodded, gasping.
“Stay with Wyatt.”
Then he was gone, crashing through the underbrush after Garrick.
Wyatt knelt beside her, Thunder at his side. “Can you breathe?”
“Yeah.” She coughed, her throat raw. “I’m fine. Really. Go help him.”
