My Freya, my baby…
I slam the truck into park before it stops moving, grab my gun from the glove box, throw the door open, and hit the ground running with my weapon drawn…
Mike turns, and one split second stretches thin. Time slows as he turns his gun on me.
The earth scrapes beneath my boots as I charge toward the edge, every sound sharpening, every breath burning hot and metallic in my throat.
Then, his barrel lifts?—
I don’t stop.
I’m going to kill him for taking them from me.
A shot cracks across the quarry, echoing off dead stone, and an instant heat tears through my thigh pocket, ripping muscle, staggering my stride for half a heartbeat.
But I don’t fall.
He expected me to go down.
He expected pain to matter.
It doesn’t.
Not after he erased the future I was building.
Another shot is fired from behind. Rio’s.
Mike’s shoulder jerks back in a burst of red, making him lose his balance.
Now he’s mine.
I hit him like a freight train.
The impact slams us both into the gravel. His skull bounces off the rock with a sick crack. He chokes on a scream as I roll on top of him, my knees pinning his shoulders, my hand closing around his throat.
“You took my girls,” I snarl, squeezing harder. “Youfucking…”
I can’t even finish my words, rage and tears and the heat of loss building in my throat, behind my eyes.
He gags, kicking uselessly beneath me, fingers clawing at my wrist. “Wh…”
The word doesn’t leave his throat, so I loosen my grip just enough to make him talk.
“Where is she?” I demand.
I don’t recognize my own voice. Rage tears through my veins.
“You fucking touched her.” My hands tighten again before I can stop them.
A wet, choking rattle leaks out of him, something catching in his throat.
He stole everything I ever wanted.
And then…
“Anton!”
Freya?
