Elowyn.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck,fuck.
It’s been over ten years since fire—red, hot, and traitorous—took almost everything from me. I thought I got over it. That I made peace with my parents’ deaths. That I moved on.
Wrong.
A decade ago, the cops showed up at my door to tell me my parents had died in a fire. Getting a call like that from Herbert ten years later nearly crushed me.
But it wasn’t a surprise. Not really. I knew something was wrong the moment I entered the warehouse where my meeting had been scheduled.
The unlocked door. The dark, stale, and empty place.
My woman needs me, my gut told me, and I listened to it.
Just as I stormed out the door, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Mr. Rourke, there’s been a fire.” Herbert coughed. “Sorry. At the mansion.”
“Elowyn.” My blood went cold, and I ran faster than I ever had to my SUV. “Is she okay?”
“I…” He trailed off, and I could’ve died.
“Spit it out.” I got in the SUV and backed out of my parking spot. “Where. Is. She?”
“Barclay and two of his friends grabbed Miss Montgomery after they gagged and chained us to the gates. The police and the fire department are here. Mary and Varn are safe.”
I loved them. Truly.
Without Elowyn, however, my life was meaningless.
“Where did he take her?” I growled, blowing through a red light.
“I…”
“Where?”
“Mary and I were also blindfolded the whole time. We wouldn’t even know they took Miss Montgomery if not for her screams. We never saw the license plate or even the car. His nurses said he just went out with friends, that they didn’t see what car they drove. I’m so sorry.”
In other words, the police had no clue where to look for her. Of course not. Barclay was anything but stupid. He must have switched vehicles by then.
I cursed, then I cursed some more.
All while speeding toward the old Montgomery home.
Car lights smear into streaks when I blow past slower drivers. A semi blasts its horn when I cut around it. I barely register the sound.
The only thing I’m aware of is the fear for Elowyn’s life. It clutches at my soul, clawing and tearing at my insides.
“Stop it. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine,” I tell the empty car. “I’m getting her back.”
Faded road signs for towns I don’t care about blur past as I keep driving like a madman.
In less than thirty minutes, I’ll be at her old home. She’ll be in my arms then, where she belongs.
When I save her.
And the other three?
