Deke and the gunman are staring at each other.
A conversation passes between them without words, and my stomach turns to ice.
The wounded man’s eyes are closed. His breathing is shallow but steady.
Deke rubs his jaw. “She saw us.”
The gunman glances at me. “Yeah.”
My chest tightens.
“I won’t say anything,” I whisper.
Deke’s gaze moves over my face like he’s already done deciding what I’m worth. “You know my name.”
I wish I could rip it out of my own head.
“I don’t,” I lie.
His mouth curves.
I move before he does.
My hand closes around the flashlight.
I swing it hard.
It cracks against the gunman’s wrist. He shouts, and his gun hits the floor, skidding under the table.
I run.
Porch boards thunder under my sneakers. Cold air slaps my face. The woods beyond the cabin are dark, but dark is better than the men behind me.
“Get her!” Deke roars.
Behind me, someone scrambles across the cabin floor.
A shot cracks through the night.
Bark explodes from a tree beside me.
I stumble with a scream caught in my throat.
Then an engine tears through the dark.
A headlight cuts between the trees, blinding and sudden. Gravel spits as a motorcycle swings into the clearing, and the man who gets off it steals every thought from my head.
He is huge.
Black leather. Broad shoulders. Tattooed arms. Brown hair shoved back from a hard, beautiful face.
There is blood on my scrubs, a gun behind me, death close enough to touch, and my ruined brain still notices his mouth.
Then his eyes find mine.
Green.
Fierce.
