Page 85 of Under Arthur’s Protection

“Really?” As we moved together, Arthur held his arm out, steering me toward the car. “Because they already threatened to kill her.”

Rick tried to sit up and grimaced. “I’m sure we can negotiate a mutually beneficial⁠—”

“Not a chance, asshole.” Arthur reached his door, but didn’t get in. He must have been waiting for me.

So I got in on my side and closed the door.

Arthur immediately dropped into the driver’s seat. Blood ran from his lip, and more of it slicked his hand—his knife wound must have reopened. He threw the car into reverse.

“Seatbelt,” he said, and one breath after I had it across my chest, the Land Rover slammed into Rick’s car.

The sudden stop threw me forward against the belt. Arthur pulled forward, then rammed Rick’s car again. The sound of crunching metal was deafening, and from the side mirror, I watched Rick’s car slide this time. One more hit and the gap opened enough for Arthur to back onto the street.

He shifted into drive so fast, I was pinned against my seat. At the first turn, he banked hard, tossing me into the door.

I clutched my seatbelt for dear life. “Who was he?”

“Not now.”

“Arthur⁠—”

“Not. Fucking. Now!”

Chapter 27

Arthur

The road was dark, and I kept driving too fast. I touched my lip with the back of my hand and came away with blood. Of course he’d split my lip. The bandage on my right forearm had soaked through, my knuckles were swelling, and my pants had torn one of the half-dozen times he put me on the driveway. And my ribs were screaming.

Beside me, Gwen gripped the edge of her seat with one hand and the handle above the door with the other. Her breathing was frantic and shallow—she’d start hyperventilating if it kept going.

Deal with that when you’re safe.

She hadn’t said a word since I’d snapped at her. What did she expect? It was time for a little chat? I was going to spill everything about that fucktard Rick Younge? And then we’d talk about how I’d fucking kissed her and fucking ruined everything?

I clenched the steering wheel and took a turn without slowing, making her gasp.

If I hadn’t walked out of that kitchen like a fucking coward, she wouldn’t have been standing in the driveway, and Rick wouldn’t have found us.

Or maybe he would have. How many men did they have in other villages like this one? And why did he have to be the one in mine? He said he had a team. They must have spread out from the GPS tracker’s last location. I’d hidden the plates before we went inside, but the Land Rover was big and would have stood out in any tiny village in this part of France. He might have spotted the car on a pass through the neighborhood whether she’d been outside or not.

Fuck.

Headlights appeared in the mirror. Far back. Matching my speed.

I took the next left without signaling. Counted to five. The headlights reappeared behind us.

“Hold on.” I took another turn, killed our headlights, and slowed. Searching. After a week of dreary skies, there wasn’t a cloud left. Just my fucking luck, the moon was bright enough to glint off my fucking vehicle.

Off to the right, an old farmstead sagged behind its rusted outbuildings. Gravel popped under the tires as I eased to a stop behind one of the buildings and cut the engine.

Gwen’s hand found the dashboard, and every cell of my body told me to take hold of that hand and promise I’d get her to safety—at least, every cell that wasn’t yelling at me to seek immediate medical attention.

Headlights swept down the road and vanished.

I waited.

One minute.