Page 84 of Shea's Hero

Then Oliver grabs my hand and squeezes it hard. “Stay here. I’m getting out.”

But.

Just as he pushes the door open, there’s a rapping on the window beside me. Not a fist knocking at it, but a gun. Pointed at me.

My lungs seize.

Then another man approaches, his gun aimed at the windshield. Also in my direction.

Oliver freezes half out of the car. His gaze shoots to mine, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look truly scared.

A third man comes up to the car, this time on Oliver’s side. He’s dressed like the others, in jeans and a hoodie, but his face is fully exposed.

He doesn’t care if we see him.

The man bares his teeth at Oliver in a malevolent grin. His voice is all menace and slimy satisfaction. “Put your gun down, Kingston. And get out of the car. Or I’ll have my friends shoot your lovely girlfriend. And you wouldn’t wantthat, would you?”

Oliver stares at him. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, no.” That evil smile gets wider. “She’s coming with us. And if you try anything, Iwillkill her.”

CHAPTER 18

OLIVER

There isn’t time to think about the guilt.

About how it’s all my fault this is happening.

I can’t let myself think about how terrified Shea must be, trapped in a car with a dangerous enemy.

I have to block out the look on her face when she was dragged away from me and thrown into that car. When she was roughly gagged and restrained by a man who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

I can’t let myself remember the cries of pain she tried to stifle or the tears she tried to hold back, and the agonizing reason why.

Even then, she was trying to protect me.

There isn’t time to focus on how damn scared I am that something might happen to Shea before I can get to her.

If I let myself really think about how fucked this situation is, I won’t be able to focus to get us out of it.

But it’s so damn hard to shove down all the emotions trying to explode out of me. Worry. Fear. Regret. Guilt. Rage.

Rage.

It’s an inferno spreading through my body, white-hot and deadly.

That these men dare to threaten Shea? Scare her? Cause her pain?

I’ve never felt such fury.

Instinct is shouting at me to act now. To use the skills I honed through all my training to disarm the men sitting in front of me, to fling them out of the car and take over, and chase after the man who has Shea.

Waiting is the worst kind of torture. Knowing Shea’s in the car in front of me, but not being able to see her. Not knowing what’s happening to her. Not knowing if?—

No. I refuse to consider it.

Apart from that, logic tells me without Shea, these men have no leverage over me. The threat of hurting her is the one thing guaranteed to make me talk. To share the secrets I’ve sworn to take to the grave.

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