Page 89 of Lords Of Ruin: Christmas

For a heartbeat, I nearly corrected him. I nearly say,No. You’ve got the wrong girl.

But the slow click of his gun makes my mouth slam shut as flashes of Willow’s smiles invade my mind. I dry swallow, what would a man like him want with a sweetheart like Willow, a girl who would never hurt a fly. Maybe this is why she ran, maybe if I take the fall, Willow will come home. I could be the one who saves her, for the first time I could pay her back for all the meals, sleepovers and safe spaces.

I can stop this man from chasing a girl with her whole life ahead of her, and he can take me instead, the girl with nothing.

No home. No future. No family.

A girl with a garbage bag stuffed full of broken dreams and no one left to care if she vanishes? No one but Willow, and she hasthree crazy guys who will help her mourn me. A dad who would memorialize me. I could take this bullet and be done with this failure of a life, come back rich, and pretty with the world at my feet.

I swallow sharply as I start to stand, my eyes trained on the shine of his penny loafers. This is my one chance to do something good—my last, defiant act of grace. A sacrifice that might, just maybe, buy me a sliver of redemption. Maybe this is my only shot at heaven, my only escape from the hell I’ve been dragging behind me all these years.

My chest rises and falls, tight as a drum.

“Yes,” I say, forcing the word past the lump in my throat. “I’m Willow.”

His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s satisfied with the answer, like the final puzzle piece just fell into place.

Without warning, he moves.

His hand clamps around my arm, iron-strong. I jolt, panic crashing over me in a sick wave.

“What are you?—”

“Come quietly,” he murmurs, too calm, too certain. “Don’t make a scene.”

My heart jackknifes into my throat.No. No no no— I was supposed to die not be kidnapped, totally not the plan!

I thrash, but he tightens his grip like steel around bone. “Don’t fight,” he says lowly, dragging me off the porch toward a black car idling at the curb. “Trust me, it’s easier this way.”

“Let me go!” I scream, twisting hard, but my feet scrape uselessly against the concrete. I claw at his arm, desperation turning my veins to fire.

And then?—

A blur of motion.

A shadow peels out of the night, fast and vicious.

The man’s hold on me rips away as he’s slammed backward into the side of the car with a sickening crack.

I stumble, breathless, watching as my attacker crumples to the pavement, groaning.

My chest heaves. My vision spins.

I look up—and there he is.

A man stands between me and the stranger like a wall of fury. His broad shoulders block out the glare of the streetlamp, his fists clenched at his sides. His face is shadowed, as he hovers over the man.

“Touch her again,” the man growls, “and I’ll rip your fucking throat out.”