Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
With a huff of frustration, Haisley smashed the button on the remote to turn off the TV and jumped up from the sofa. Chewing absently on a ragged fingernail, she paced.
Three hours—Nash had been gone that long. It felt like the longest three hours of her life. She was losing her mind, wondering what was happening at the auction, if the raid to take down the Velvet Cove was going down as planned. If Nash would come back to her safe and unharmed.
The alternative was too awful to contemplate, but no matter how much she told herself to stay calm, she couldn’t get that pit of dread out of her stomach. Couldn’t stop picturing all the terrifying things that could go wrong.
Absently, she thought about opening that drawer in which Nash had shoved the little bit of clothing she’d been given and the potential devices she might need to survive. She’d gotten used to being naked nearly all the time, and when Nash was in the room, she felt fine. Safe. Desired and adored. Now that he was across the compound and potentially in danger? She felt vulnerable and exposed. Like a sitting duck. The feeling wasn’t rational. A slip of a dress, a gun, and a phone wouldn’t do much if Gray and his minions marched in…but she still felt compelled to be as prepared as possible, just in case.
But the minute she withdrew those devices, security would know she was armed. Surely they’d perceive that as a threat and come running. Then what?
Haisley was still trying to decide if the precaution was worth the risk when an explosion rocked the island—and their suite.
She gasped. Froze. Nash hadn’t mentioned explosions. Had something gone wrong? She’d expected pandemonium while they took down the scum running this island, but…so early in the evening? Nash hadn’t shared plans of the raid with her, but she’d gotten the impression it would go down after the auction, somewhere near dawn—not in the middle of it.
Her windows rattled. Crystal glasses tumbled from the bar cart. Haisley stumbled as she raced to the window. She braced on the adjoining seat as another blast followed, closer this time. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
Something had gone wrong. She felt it in her bones.
Acrid smoke drifted up and past the windows. Beyond the glass, fires raged on the east side of the island, licking at the supply docks. People ran across the grounds, their shouts muffled by distance and thick hurricane-proof windows. Red emergency lights began flashing in the hallway, visible through the crack beneath the door.
Nash.
Her chest constricted with fear. The two years she’d spent without him had been hell, but at least she’d known he was alive somewhere out there. The thought of losing him completely, of existing in a world where he didn’t… She couldn’t bear it. She’d been fooling herself in Cali, pretending she was just fine without him. But she’d been lying. She had never stopped loving him. She knew now she never would.
Would she ever see him again?
The power flickered, then died, plunging the suite into darkness broken only by moonlight and those hellish red emergency strobes. Down the hall, doors slammed. Boots thundered against marble floors, growing closer.
They were coming. For her?
She pressed a protective hand to her still-flat belly. Hopefully, Nash was out there, fighting the good fight, and he’d come back to her and their baby. He wasn’t here to save them. He couldn’t be. She was going to have to do it herself.
In near pitch blackness, Haisley shimmied into her bra and panties, then raced to the dresser, yanking out one of the gauzy silk slips they’d provided and pulled it over her head. The fabric clung to her curves like water, but at least she wasn’t naked anymore. Beneath the negligees she found what she really needed.
She grabbed the burner phone, tucking it into her bra since the slip had no pockets. Then her fingers closed around cool metal—the Glock Nash had left her. The weight felt foreign in her hand. She pushed aside her discomfort. She could do this. She had to. After all, she’d been shooting a few times, mostly because Nash had taken her out and taught her, but that had been years ago.
She wracked her brain to remember how to handle the weapon. Fingers trembling, she racked a round, vaguely trying to remember if Glocks had a safety. It was too dark to see, and she didn’t have time to look. She’d have to carry the gun carefully.
A loud click in the relative silence told her someone had unlocked the door to the suite—and she doubted it was Nash.
That meant she was no longer alone.
Her heart leapt in her throat. Adrenaline pumped, making her body weak-kneed and hyper-aware as she scanned the suite in the dark, looking for somewhere to hide. But this place was designed for luxury and comfort during long-term stays, not tactical defenses.