Page 137 of Guarded Knight

She’s on the run.

My girl. I had to have faith she’d slip away from him somehow…

He doesn’t have her. But he’s after her.

There’s no time to plan.

I’m already moving. “Go,” I bite, without sparing him a glance.

Anton doesn’t hesitate and disappears to the east.

I stalk the edge of bricks and crumbling mortar until I find a low ventilation window, mesh rusted through. I pry the blade of my pocketknife around the edges and peel back the mesh and then… I’m inside.

Silent, crouched, ready to hunt.

The warehouse stretches wide and long—concrete floors pitted with water stains, enormous pressing machines scattered like industrial corpses. A catwalk spans half the perimeter overhead, leading to a hallway where I assume there are offices. Garment bags hang from chains that groan with the wind. It’s a damn good place to get ambushed.

I’ve worked in worse terrain, worse odds. But never with the love of my life on the line.

God, don’t let me fail her. Take my sleep, my peace, hell, take me—but not her.

The sound of banging on what I think is an exit door echoes through the space, but I can’t see her here.

Light catches dust in the air through large, broken windows.

Then… bare feet slap on concrete floors, running. I can’t see her over the machinery in front of me, but from the quick, gentle slap on the floor, I know… It’s her.

I want to set off with an explosion toward her, but… fuck. He could be armed. He could have a gun trained on her.

You don’t win by rushing in, Gabriel.

God, my feet want to move, and my mouth goes dry. I have to get to her.

Anton should be looking to breach that side of the building now.

“You can’t leave… You won’t leave me. Not again…” Trent bellows.

I stalk through the shadows of the archaic machinery, and when I finally see her through a crack of an old rusted clothing rack, she’s diving under a machine…and he has her just as fast.

I raise my weapon for a shot, wanting to murder him for touching her, revenge coursing like fire through my veins, but there are too many obstructions. And before I can get a new sight on him, Trent’s got her locked against him in a grotesque hold, arm crushed across her chest, dragging her backward into the far end of the space like a butcher hauling meat.

My lungs seize.

My soul turns dark.

And my finger twitches on the trigger.

Sweat beads down my temple, and every muscle in my body is coiled tight as I stare down the site for a clean shot.

I can’t fucking lose her.

I gnash my teeth together to keep me from calling out, to keep me from doing anything stupid.

He might have a gun. A knife…

Lara’s legs buckle beneath her, and her face is pale with panic, lips parted in shallow gasps as she tries to twist free and coughs.

I’m a fucking mess of rage. I want to scream down on him like an atomic bomb, but I have to act instead. Feelings get men killed.