I needed to wake up, wake up…
My eyes snapped open, only to find the world still a blur of white and gray. I felt it then—a grip, iron-hard, on the back of my neck, dragging me. Instinct kicked in—fight or die. My elbow shot back hard and fast, connecting with something solid.
A grunt, low and surprised, told me I'd hit the mark.
The ground came up to greet me.
Pain snapped through me as I hit the ground, the world tilting into a blur of snow and sky. I squinted against the glare, my breath coming out in ragged heaves. The black-clad figure above me was a blot against the bright sky.
“This is it,” I gasped, the thought piercing through the fog of pain. “They finally found me.”
Memories surged, unbidden—photographs taken in secret, moments frozen in time. A couple, young and smiling, huddledclose in a dingy back alley. They had been full of hope, ready to leave the shadows for a new beginning.
Until they talked to me.
Until their smiles were wiped away by bullets that left nothing but bloodstains on a cheap motel room carpet—a warning I could never forget.
The warning that had sent me running home to Silver Ridge.
I pushed through the pain, trying to get up, but the ground was moving under me.
“Clay,” I choked out, his name a lifeline. The thought of him lying cold and still somewhere because I dragged him into this mess—it made my blood run cold. Where was he? Had they already killed him too?
“Don’t hurt him,” I gasped up at the guy in black. “Just…just take me.”
Then, everything went crazy.
I heard a crash, like thunder on a clear day. There was shouting—hisvoice, deep and pissed off.
“Get the fuck off her!” Clay roared, more animal than man.
I heard the struggle, grunts and snarls, knew that Clay was in the thick of it with what was probably a contract killer.
“Stop!” I finally managed to scream, scrambling to get up. My hands were numb, but I forced them to work, clawing at the snow. If I could just find something, anything to help...
“Clay!” I cried.
I had to do something.
I couldn’t let him face this alone—not when it was my fault.
I shoved myself up, using the truck’s side mirror for leverage. “Stop! Leave him alone!”
“Grace, stay out of it!” Clay's voice was a growl, but I ignored him.
“Like hell I will.” I scanned the ground, my breaths clouding in the frigid air. There had to be something, anything I could use.
“God, give me something here,” I muttered, hands sweeping through the snow, desperate for a weapon.
And then, there it was—a large fallen branch just feet away. It was half-buried, but I yanked it free, hardly believing my luck.
“Gotcha,” I hissed, gripping the makeshift club.
In the thick of it, Clay's fists were a blur, the guy trying to match him blow for blow. I wasn't just going to stand there; I had that branch and damn if I wouldn't use it.
“Hey!” I yelled, more out of instinct than anything else. It didn't matter; they were locked in their own world of pain and grunts. I charged, gripping the branch with both hands and swung it hard. The sound it made when it connected with the back of the man's head was sickeningly solid. He stumbled forward into Clay, who didn't miss a beat and threw a right hook.
“Grace, dammit!” Clay cursed when he caught sight of me, but his attention snapped back to the fight as the man recovered and swung at him.