Page 220 of Dare To Live

No, no, no.

My limbs are weak. I’m shaking.

Darkness dances on the edge of my vision.

An ear-piercing shriek deafens me and a second later, something hard rams into me, and I fall backward. The gun flies from my hand.

Pain detonates through the back of my skull as it smashes into something hard. The floor rushes up to meet me.

A gunshot rings out a second before I float away into complete and utter darkness.

Chapter 126

Miles

“Miles, you can’t go in there. It’s dangerous.”

I struggle out of Ivan’s vice-like grip on my arm. “She’s my fucking friend. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. If she’s dead …”

I shove at his chest, and send him staggering backward, then turn and take off toward the building, ignoring his shout for me to stop. He put her in danger, put us all in danger. I’m not sure I can ever forgive him for this, even if he does believe he was doing the right thing.

It’s chaos inside the farmhouse. People are everywhere, shouting orders.

The first thing I see when I enter the building are the two corpses by the table on the floor. My chest and shoulders are tight, a panic attack dancing at the edge of my control. For a second, the bodies are superimposed by Kellan sprawled out on the altar.

Not Arabella too. Please No, not her too.

Panic tries to choke me as I run into the next room. Bret is standing at the edge of a group of agents. There are more bodies on the floor.

The sight and smell of all the blood has bile burning its way up my throat.

Someone is screaming for an ambulance. For one brief second, I catch sight of Eli. His face is swollen, disfigured, and fear twists my guts.

An agent is crouched over him, but he’s not moving.

My gaze is frantically sweeping the room, seeking out Arabella. I lock onto red hair. The female agent who had walked part of the way to the farmhouse with her. She’s crouched over something. My eyes dip down.

Blonde hair.

My best friend is curled on her side on the hardwood floor, eyes closed, face pale.

“Bella!” I roar her name and push past the people in my way. “No. No.”

“She’s breathing,” The redheaded woman assures me. “It looks like she hit her head on the coffee table as she went down. It could have been much worse. The woman was about to shoot her. If I’d got here half a second later …”

I take Arabella’s cold hand in mine. “Bella? I’m here.”

“We need an ambulance,” someone shouts.

More men rush in with stretchers. I’m pushed out of the way as the medics go to work.

Five bodies.

Three males and two females.

Shots to the chest and head.

Suspected concussion.

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