48
PEYTON
The screaming starts first.
Not cheering.
Not hockey fans.
Screaming.
Sharp. Panicked. Wrong.
I spin toward the sound just as the arena lights flicker overhead.
For one disorienting second, I’m still standing inside Summit Arena.
Then the world twists.
The concrete hallway disappears.
Warm Key West air slams into me instead.
My pulse spikes.
No.
No. No. No.
“Allie!”
The scream tears out of Connor as he rounds the corner. He stares helplessly at his wife.
Landon’s arm is locked around her waist. The knife pressed to her throat. Blood slides down her skin.
“You want your wife back?” he snarls at Connor somewhere behind me. “I want Peyton.”
Daltyn skids to a stop behind him. One look at Allie and he goes rigid. His voice is like a blade. “Let. Her. Go.”
The knife presses harder. Allie winces. Blood blooms against the blade.
“Don’t come any closer!” Landon screams. “Either she dies, or I get Peyton!”
“Landon!” My voice cracks through the air like thunder.
Landon’s wild eyes snap toward me. He’s sweating, his hair disheveled. He looks unhinged.
Panic crushes the air from my lungs. “I’m here,” I choke out. “I’m right here.”
He turns his head toward me, and that’s when Gram makes her move. She swings her oversized bag, cracking Landon across the back. He’s so stunned, the knife slips from his hand.
Allie elbows him and stumbles away, tripping in her haste.
Landon barely notices.
He’s focused on me, like a predator with prey in his sights.
The world starts distorting around us. Shadows lengthen unnaturally. Sounds fade, like I’ve lost my hearing.
