In a voice like a wild animal, he addresses my captor.
“Take your hands off my wife or I’ll pop this bullet into your skull, come over there and hack them both off with a pocket knife.”
This doesn’t sound like August. He sounds like someone else.
My stomach shrinks at the words he uses and the snarl he delivers them with. Who the hell is this man? Who the hell are both of these men? Now, I am certain I’ve walked into an arrangement that is not what it was meant to be.
My captor doesn’t move.
Seconds pass.
I feel him open his mouth to speak, then a breeze rushes past my ears, my arms are released and the man drops to the ground. I stagger backward then fall onto the forest floor in shock.
August is at my side in a heartbeat, his thick arm wrapping around my waist and lifting me to my feet in one easy movement. Securing me to his side, he shoves the pistol into his pants, whips out his phone andtextssomeone.
I gape open-mouthed at him, then down at the man on the floor who is clearly dead.
August just killed him.
My fake husband just killed a man.
The man I’ve been sharing a bed with just committed cold-bloodedmurder.
My stomach lurches and I bend over and wretch.
A cool hand rubs my back as my stomach refuses to expel its entire contents.
I glance over at the man on the ground. Yup, he’s definitely dead.
What the actual fuck?
Finally, August speaks. His voice is menacingly relaxed and measured.
“The shit is going to hit the fan tomorrow when this guy fails to show. This pushes my timeline up.”
I wipe my mouth with a muddy hand. “What timeline?” I demand.
His gaze falls to me, soft and warm. “Let’s get you back inside.”
I’m devoid of speech as August half-walks, half-carries me back to the main building. Just before we hit the entrance path, he pauses. “Which way did you come out?”
“That way.” I nod to the main entrance.
“The door?”
“No, genius. I abseiled out the window.”
“If now was the time for a smartass mouth, I’d find that funny.”
He pulls me in another direction, skirting the edge of the gravel toward a back entrance.
“What’s wrong with the main entrance?”
“Hush, Erin,” he whispers.
I pin my lips together now, but in a short while when we’re inside, I’m demanding answers of my own.
We take a different set of stairs up to the floor where our suite is located. It’s a set of stairs I didn’t know existed. How does August know alternative routes and access points?
