Page 46 of Their Stolen Obsession

We were close. There was no turning back and nothing could stop us. Not even the thought of the destruction we might find when we found Liv, and she was back in our arms. We’d deal with whateverdamage those assholes had done. We’d heal Liv’s broken soul and put her back together again. Piece by fucking piece. Liv was strong.

“Coast is clear. You?” I whispered, condensation misting in front of my face.

“Nothing but crickets,” Saint answered in a quiet tone. “And a pesky rabbit.”

We had been walking for ten minutes since I checked the time last, and the joint was closer. My adrenaline kicked up a notch, my hands clenched into fists. I was ready for war—the battle of my life because Liv was my lifeline. She was everything.

Suddenly, I got pulled to my right, and a punch connected with my left cheek.Shit.I didn’t even see the bastard. Someone had discovered us.

Whoever this prick was, he was good. Too excellent. Extremely trained.

Stunned, I stumbled backward, and I got ready to retaliate. Saint beat me to the punch. He threw a right hook and was out for blood. His fist contacted flesh, and there was a slight grunt from our attacker, but the blow didn’t sway him. The asshole came at me with a punch, and I dodged the hit in time. Quickly, I reacted. A kick toward his face, but I missed, and he blocked it with his forearm.Damn.

Oh, no.Our attacker grabbed onto my leg and pulled, twisting my body into a spin toward theground. I ate the dirt.Motherfucker!This guy was an expert.

Direct. Focused. Fast.

Grit mixed with the taste of blood in my mouth as I went to get up and saw Saint take a turn. He went at him. Hard. Punch after kick. The guy blocked each hit, but Saint never gave up.

I was ready to go at this dickhead from his backside until his movements stopped me. He reminded me of myself, stuck in combat for his life. Unable to back down until one of us was dead. It was as if he was at war on the battlefield, trained to be an armed soldier, a weapon meant for destruction.

The man, this enemy, was all too familiar, and I questioned him with narrowed eyes. “Zane?”

Immediately, he froze, and Saint kicked him in the face. His head recoiled. He shuffled backward, unbalanced, but he didn’t falter. The fighting stopped.

“What the hell did you say?” Saint glanced at me and exhaled heavily.

Saint panted out into the nighttime and the sound of crickets set back in. My heartbeat stopped pounding in my ears, and I found clarity as I stared at the man who I was sure I knew.

I repeated, “Zane? Zane Adler?”

“No fucking way,” Saint whispered in shock. “Zane? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Our mystery man wouldn’t speak. He only stood there and pulled something out of his pocket.Shit. I was wrong.

Prepared to fight, I grabbed my knife. A quick move for my life. His gun would go off any second and he could hit us both before I sliced his throat.My guess?A bullet to my head and one in Saint’s neck. This asshole couldn’t take a chance we were with the cops and wore bullet-proof vests. He was way too fucking smart to risk us getting past him. Two shots fired and our mission would be over, but we couldn’t have that.

I went to lunge for him but froze. The dickhead lit a lighter. A Zippo, to be exact.

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it ain’t the luckiest sons of bitches I’ve ever met,” Zane said as he lit a cigar, and the bright glow revealed his face. “Besides myself, that is.”

“Holy shit.” Saint blew a low whistle.

A whiplash shockwave of memories hit me. Smacked me in the face and torture hit me like a crash I never saw coming. Torment I had survived for years, locked away in my nightmares, where I kept them trapped in deep slumber. Reality was a cold, hard bitch and flashbacks transported me back in time.

Twenty-Five

Her Predator

Sin

My prison was my new home away from home. The torture was no joke. Every damn day, those motherfuckers took their shot at cracking us, but none of us spoke a word. Except for some idiot beside me. He didn’t last long. He caved and paid the price with a bullet to the head right in front of me.

No one cleaned up his blood. Only used a boot to cover the splatter in the dirt. I could still count pieces of his brains on the soil—a weird fucked up game I ended up playing to pass the time.

The date meant nothing while locked up in here without a goddamn clock. I held no recollection of anything normal. Only when the sun set and the moon showed up.

Sullivan barely spoke, but I found out his name. Saint. His given title atbirth didn’t suit him. He was a stone-cold guy who appeared to get through extreme pain better than anyone else in this hellhole. There was no cracking him.