“Hmm,” she says softly.
Then she starts mumbling to herself. I can barely catch her words.
“…barely 30k if you’re a mutt…”
What?
I start to walk away, but I can hear her random mutterings behind me. Following me.
“…100k if you’re remotely associated with…”
“…what I wouldn’t give to grab that double princess whore…”
“…almost sixty mil if I can grab the cuck…”
Fuck!
I start running, my steps faltering every few seconds.
“Hey, Sarah?” she calls out from behind me, her tone gleeful. “Does Ruin care about you? Just a little, you think?”
God.
I sprint harder, my heart slamming violently against my ribs. My vision blurs as I fumble with my phone, trying to dial 911. My fingers slip. The call fails. Twice.
My lungs burn as I keep running. The pavement blurs beneath my feet, my breath tearing out of my chest in ragged bursts.
“Fuck!” I choke, nearly tripping over the curb.
Behind me, I hear footsteps. Unhurried. Almost… casual.
I don’t dare turn around. Suddenly—
A brutal yank snaps my body backward.
The scream dies in my throat as something slams into my back, a tall, solid body locking me in place. An arm clampsacross my chest, hauling me off my feet for a second before my shoes scrape helplessly against the asphalt.
The phone flies from my hand.
I thrash wildly. “Let me go! Let—” The words choke off when cold fingers dig into my jaw, forcing my head to tilt sideways.
Giggles spill into my ear. High. Maniacal.
But they sound distant.
I can feel a tall figure behind me. Broad. Completely unmoving.
“Please—” I gasp.
Then a deep voice rumbles behind me. Cold. Detached. “What’s her tag, Glory?”
For a second, there’s silence.
Then Leila—Glory—clicks her tongue. “Ack,” she says lightly. “Mutt.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Charlotte
