Prologue
End of The Pawn
Henry
The tires on my SUV screamed as I tore down the last stretch of road leading to the farm.
I bought this place for the quiet. For the serenity it offered. Peace was supposed to live here.
Tonight, every second it took to reach the house felt like it carved a deeper wound in my chest.
I checked my phone again, refreshing the security system, even though I’d done it a dozen times in as many minutes.
No breached doors.
No broken windows.
No motion sensors tripped.
Nothing.
I pulled up the feed of Ariana sleeping, trying to find some solace in it.
And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling something was wrong. Something I couldn’t see. Something slipping between the cracks of the system I built.
I was never one to pray. It was hard to believe in God when life dealt me one harsh blow after another.
But tonight I prayed Ariana was okay.
I hated to consider the alternative.
When the farmhouse finally came into view, I was relieved to find nothing appeared out of the ordinary. But I wouldn’t relax until I was sure. I pulled up to the gate and pressed my thumb to the scanner.
But instead of the gates swinging open as they normally did, they remained locked.
My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach, but I wiped my hands on my jeans and tried again.
And again, they didn’t budge.
Suddenly, a gunshot reverberated through the night sky, piercing the still tranquility.
I didn’t hesitate.
I jumped out of the SUV, sprinting the quarter mile along the nine-foot brick wall and toward the tree I’d been meaning to get rid of.
Now I was glad I hadn’t.
I quickly scaled the tree, slid across one of the branches, and leapt onto the ground. I only allowed myself a second to get my footing before I darted toward the house. My ankle throbbed from the sprain that still hadn’t fully healed, but that didn’t matter to me. Not when Ariana was in danger.
By the time I reached the front door, my gun was already drawn. The moment I stepped inside, I heard it. A broken, ragged sound that punched every ounce of air from my lungs.
I moved through the foyer, and when I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the world stopped.
Victor Kane was in my house.
On the floor.
Bleeding out.
