Page 93

93

CONNOR

W e’re halfway back to the bungalow when Daltyn suddenly crouches, frowning at a new set of tracks carved into the mud. “These weren’t here before,” he mutters. “Longer stride. Deeper—someone’s running.”

But I’m already gone.

A flicker of motion at the edge of my vision and a flash of a hoodie.

Then Allie’s terrified eyes lock with mine for half a second before she’s yanked backward and disappears behind a building.

“ALLIE!” I explode forward, the scream ripping from my throat like it’s been carved out. My feet barely touch the ground. My heart is a war drum. My vision tunnels to a single purpose.

Get to her!

I round the corner and slam to a stop.

Landon has her.

His arm is locked around her waist, dragging her back against him. A knife is pressed to her throat. She gasps as the blade slices a line into her skin. Blood blooms against the silver.

My hands fly up, begging him to stop. “Don’t hurt her.”

His eyes are wild. He’s profusely sweating and clearly unhinged.

“Give me Peyton,” he snarls. “You want your wife back? I want her.”

My blood runs cold. “Let her go. You don’t want to do this.”

Daltyn skids to a stop behind me. One look at Allie, and he goes rigid. His voice is a blade. “Let. Her. Go.”

The knife presses harder. Allie winces. A droplet of blood trails down her neck.

“Don’t come any closer!” Landon screams. “Either she dies, or I get Peyton!”

I keep my voice even. “Okay. Let’s talk. Just slow down. We can work this out.”

He starts backing away, dragging her with him, the blade still biting into her skin.

Panic, desperation, and terror fuse together inside me. I’m torn between the urge to run toward them or stay frozen in place so he doesn’t hurt my wife anymore than he already has.

“Landon!” Peyton’s voice cracks through the chaos like thunder.

Landon turns his head toward her, momentarily stunned.

And that second is all we need.

Gram appears from the side like a rabid gremlin in sea turtle slippers, swinging her oversized beach bag, and cracks Landon across the back.

The knife slips from his hand.

Allie elbows him and stumbles away, tripping in her haste.

Landon barely notices. He’s focused on Peyton, head still turned in her direction like she’s a mirage.

Daltyn launches like a missile, slamming into him with a roar that sounds like it’s been buried inside him for years. They hit the ground hard.

Daltyn doesn’t hesitate, just starts swinging.

I’m already at Allie’s side, catching her before she collapses. “I’ve got you,” I breathe, dragging her against my chest, my voice shaking. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

I clutch her like I’ll never let her go again. Because I almost lost her. I almost lost everything.

A few feet from Allie and me, fists are flying.

Daltyn’s snarling.

Landon’s body is jerking under the impact.

Blood spatters.

Crack. A bone splinters beneath Daltyn’s fist.

Another punch.

Another.

And another.

Landon is no longer fighting or trying to defend himself.

But Daltyn’s still swinging.

“Daltyn!” Peyton’s voice breaks. “STOP!”

He doesn’t hear her.

Doesn’t see her.

He can’t see anything through his blinding rage.

“Daltyn, STOP !”

He freezes. Pants fall from his lips. His chest heaves.

Peyton steps closer. Her voice is soft, but it cuts deeper than any blade. “He’s not worth it.”

Daltyn’s knuckles are slick with blood. His whole body vibrates with rage.

She raises her phone. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

He breathes hard, then slowly lowers his hand. Blood dripping from his knuckles. Fury still burning behind his eyes.

But he steps back.

I ease Allie down on the ground. She’s shaking but conscious.

My entire body is one raw nerve.

And then I walk over to where he lies.

I stand over Landon, staring down at him with hatred and disgust. He’s bloodied, groaning, still somehow alive.

And I punch him square in the face. Hard.

“That,” I growl, “was for touching my wife.”

He slumps, out cold.

Gram shuffles up beside me like a gremlin godmother, sunglasses askew, robe flapping in the wind, margarita in hand.

She spits on Landon’s unconscious body. Then whacks him with her bag again.

“That’s what you get,” she mutters, “for messing with their women, loser.”