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Dylan coughed when the scent of chemicals and citrus burning around filled the air. Why did it smell like lemon disinfectant? She was never using lemon anything ever again. He had lit the cardboard boxes like birthday candles, and the flames flickered around her. Something exploded from the first box. She screamed—it was just right there next to her. Sparks melted part of her favorite purple coat.

“Okay, sweetie pie. Time to run off into the sunset together. Which do you prefer, a vacation in the south or a vacation in the north? It’s all up to you. We will discuss your infidelity with my very own nephew later. Cheater, cheater. You are going to get spanked for that.”

He slung her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing at all. His hand cupped her rear end and kneaded, and he laughed.

His laugh was the craziest sound she had ever heard.

“Just let me go, you lunatic. Fletcher is coming for me, and when he does, he’s going to kick your ass so hard your cheeks will be bruised for a century. Get your sick hands off me!”

“Would you prefer I just leave you inside here to burn? I don’t think so. Remember this, little Dylan Talley: Bruce Tyler is not and has never been a killer. I am not about to start with you, my nephew’s very own woman. A Tyler doesn’t roll like that.”

He just carried her out the rear door like he abducted Dylans every single day.

She was still over his shoulder when the first gunshot sounded.

Fire burned through her left leg. She had felt that same flame once before. Bruce roared.

Dylan screamed.

And arched her back.

He dropped her to the ground. Right on her broken arm. Dylan screamed out.

Dylan rolled. She was fast, far faster than he was. Dylan somehow got back up to her feet. And ran.