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And Elliott deserves a woman who won’t give up. Not on him, and not on herself.
I close my eyes, figuring I should rest now, before I’m too weak to fight off those stupid rats, but then a sound upstairs makes them pop open again.
Is Garth back already? He’s only been gone a couple of hours.
Dammit.
I thought I’d have more time.
I should have rolled myself to the work bench. I don’t know what else is there since I think Garth took the knife with him, but it’s too late now. I just—
“Luna! Luna, are you here? It’s Silver!”
Silver?
I blink for a second, and then I scream.
“I’m down here! I’m here!” My heart is thundering, and I sit up straight, looking toward the door.
Someone fumbles with it on the other side and then there’s a crashing sound and someone’s denim-clad leg crashes right through the wood. A hand reaches through and unlocks it, and the first face I see is Grim’s.
“Landon!” I yell his legal name because…I don’t even know why but it feels right.
“Hey, hon.” He practically jumps down the short stairway and rushes over to me. He produces a knife and cuts through the ropes binding me in a couple of flicks of his wrist.
“Oh my God. You found me.” I look up at him, and at Silver and Motor, who are right behind him.
Then I burst into tears.
“You’re okay now.” And just like that, he scoops me up in his arms. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Wh-where’s Rage?” I sob, clutching his shirt like a lifeline.
“He went after Garth.”
My head snaps up. “No! He’ll kill him and wind up in jail! Grim, you have to stop him.”
“Honey.” He looks down at me, and there’s genuine regret in his eyes. “There isn’t a force on earth that can stop Elliott from doing what he’s about to do.”
Elliott.
Not Rage.
Elliott.
Because Rage is a soldier. A fighter. A bodyguard.
Elliott is a man currently fighting to right one of the wrongs in the world.
Rage is a persona, an alter ego.
Elliott is a man.
My man.
I’ve never heard Landon call Rage by his given name. Not once in the seven months we’ve all known each other, so I understand how serious this is.
“He can’t go to prison,” I whisper. “You have to try!”