Page 155 of Moth to a Flame

I’m there. Last two feet and I’m there.

Red. Red. Red. Everywhere and everything is red.

“You’re going to pay for this. It’s your fault.”

I burst through the door and make a quick assessment of the scene I’ve walked in on.

Lester, who’s had his back to me, quickly spins on his heel. He’s wearing a crumpled dress shirt and even more crumpled khaki Wranglers. Motherfucker has a hacksaw in his hand.

Which he hasn’t used yet. Regan—my Regan—is out of his reach.

She’s on the wood floor, her fingers splayed over the waistline of her leggings.

Her ankles are tied up. Her wrists are bound as well.

The blood on nine out of ten of her fingernails has dried. Her left pinky finger shines in crimson red. Her cheek is bruised. Lip swollen. I’ll kiss everything better later.

After I avenge every second of every day she’s had to suffer with him. The ten years before that. The decade of nightmares.

I’ll destroy him for what he did to her that night. That horrible night no one should have ever gone through, least of all her.

Another thing I notice in the split second I have is that her hands are shaking. Her chin, however, is held up high. Firm. She’s been staring down her abuser.

Had I not shown up, he would’ve hurt her. She’s trapped in this miniature kitchen of this tiny cabin.

The whole place is the size of my bedroom, and she’s here. Wedging herself into a corner with nowhere to run.

She couldn’t have escaped, yet look at her. Regal and doing her damnedest to show Lester he can’t scare her. Not even with a hacksaw. Not even when he has the upper hand.

Fuck, I admire her. So much so that I’m frozen in place for a moment.

“Oh, hell yeah. The white-haired bastard who took my dick.” He charges toward me. “Two for one.”

“Landon!”

Dumping my bag to the floor, I throw my body to the side in a diversion. Lester propels forward since his brain hasn’t caught up to the fact that I’m not there anymore.

I shove my leg forward at the same moment my fist finds his ear.

Bam.

He topples face down to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

His hacksaw goes flying to the corner of the room, away from Regan.

“Ow! Mother—”

I’m not here to let him talk or complete sentences or whatever the fuck. He’s had a week to talk to Regan. Seven days to poison her mind.

I charge at him, my boot slamming on the back of his neck. When I cut my gaze to Regan, I see her dragging herself forward to get the hacksaw.

With one foot still on top of Lester, I bend to her, pressing my lips to her temple.

“Landon.” She’s shaking, leaning into me.

I’ll spend hours inhaling her scent. Later.

I cut the zip ties off her wrists. I don’t lose my balance as I tell her to do the same for her ankles while I hold the motherfucker down.

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