Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Across the makeshift triage area, a paramedic carefully peels away Dean’s shirt to examine the wound on his shoulder. Sophia stands at his side, one hand clutched in his, tears still bright in her eyes. Despite everything, a faint smile touches my lips—she’s safe, he’s safe, and we’re all here. “I’m sorry,” Dean murmurs to Sophia, tilting his head, “didn’t mean to freak you out. Just a stupid bullet graze.”
She scoffs gently, wiping her cheek with the back of her free hand. “Dean, a bullet graze is still a bullet graze. You’ve lost some blood—”
“I’m fine,” he insists, though his wince when the paramedic prods his shoulder betrays him. “Just patch me up, please, so I can get my family out of here.”
Lincoln’s arm tightens around me at the word “family,” and a flutter of warmth sparks in my chest. I blink back tears… part exhaustion, part relief.
The paramedic finishes applying a gauze pad to Dean’s shoulder, taping it down with efficient motions. “You should get a proper check at the hospital,” the medic says sternly. “Bullet grazes can still cause complications, risk of infection—”
“Sure, sure,” Dean mutters, grimacing as he shifts his arm, but it’s obvious he’s anxious to leave. His gaze flicks to me, then to Lincoln. “We’ll swing by the hospital after all this is sorted out.”
Sophia rubs his good shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath. “At least let me drive you.”
“Whatever you say,” Dean murmurs, leaning to rest his cheek against her hair. In the swirl of flashing lights and the chaos of police chatter, it’s a tender moment that almost makes me forget the horrors of the night. Almost.
Then Dean’s eyes narrow, focusing on me and Lincoln standing so close. His brow furrows, an unreadable expression flitting across his face. “So,” he says slowly, voice tinged with both fatigue and curiosity, “you two… when did this happen?”
Lincoln’s muscles tense at my side, and I swallow hard, suddenly aware that we haven’t talked about it ourselves, let alone planned how we’d explain it to my overprotective brother. My face warms. “Dean…” I start, my voice wavering.
He raises his uninjured hand, a small, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, I’m not mad,” he says, though the tension around his eyes suggests he’s still trying to come to terms with it. “I know he’s always cared about you.”
My cheeks burn at his words. “I think I’ve always cared for him too.”
Dean exhales, looking between the two of us. Then his eyes shift back to me. “I trust him fully, but do you?” he asks quietly. And I realize that’s his main concern—his protective nature. He wants to ensure I’m in good hands.
I feel Lincoln’s hand squeeze my shoulder, like a silent vow he’s standing by me. A lump forms in my throat, and I nod, voice trembling. “I do.”
A swirl of emotion flickers across Dean’s face—surprise, resignation, maybe relief. He nods once, rubbing his jaw. “All right,” he says simply. “We’ll talk more later. As long as he doesn’t get you shot,” he adds with a faint, humorless chuckle, “I can handle it.”
I manage a small laugh—fragile, but real. For a second, it feels like we might finally step out of the nightmare into something resembling normal. Then, a new voice interrupts.
“Dean, Lincoln, Isabel, Sophia.” We turn to see a woman approaching—a tall blonde with a sharp gaze, wearing a fitted jacket that screams law enforcement. She flashes a badge at one of the uniformed cops before crossing to us. “Chloe Huxley,” she introduces herself, voice calm but urgent. “Detective, and wife of Devereaux—he told me you’d be here.”
Dean nods. “What’s the situation, Detective?”
Chloe tucks a stray hair behind her ear, scanning the group. “We managed to secure the area. Morris is in custody—” she glances at me, and I recall how we tackled him in the container, “—thanks to you two, actually. And we’ve detained Tyler and Livvy. We’d been hunting them for a while—trafficking, conspiracy, all sorts of charges.”
“Who?” I ask.
Lincoln leans close to my ear, and whispers, “Vera and Trey. Their real names are Tyler and Livvy Mayweather.”
My stomach turns at the memory of Vera’s betrayal, but I push it aside. “What about Lazarus Delgado?” I ask, voice shaking. “Please tell me you have him.”
Her lips press together in a grim line. “He slipped away in the chaos. We’re not sure how, but we have reason to believe he escaped onto a private boat. My team’s on it now, scanning the harbor. We won’t stop until we find him.”
A cold fist of dread squeezes my heart. Lazarus is still out there—one of the most dangerous men in the criminal underworld, free to plot more revenge. Lincoln’s hand tightens on my shoulder again, grounding me, but I see the flicker of anger in his eyes. Dean’s jaw clenches.