Page 86 of Guarded from Treachery

Emotions are for later. Once Isla’s home. Safe.

Now it’s an op. The most important one I’ve ever been on.

Erik raps the wall outside the changing room. A dull thud echoes through the hall.

One of the men inside says, “Hey! What was that?”

“What the fuck?” the other grunts. “Is someone coming? Did one of you bitches do that?”

Then we make our move.

Erik races in first and leaps on one of the men, slamming him to the ground with a resounding thud.

As the other turns around to see what’s going on, I lunge at him. All the martial arts skills I still practice come like second nature, my muscles moving without thought.

Arm chop. Leg sweep. Chest punch. Arm bar.

The man’s gun clatters to the ground.

Rhiannon jumps forward and snatches it up. Then she kicks the man I have on the ground, snarling, “You fucking asshole. How dare you point a gun at a pregnant woman?”

A glance to my left shows that Erik has his guy pinned and is already zip tying the piece of garbage’s wrists together. The dark-clad man is whining, “My arms, my arms, you’re going to pull them out of their sockets! Stop it! You’re hurting me!”

Erik yanks the man’s arms harder and growls, “Shut the fuck up. You’re lucky I don’t rip them off.”

And against the wall, in a purple dress, is Isla. Pink eyed and obviously frightened, tears dampening her cheeks, but at least visually, she looks okay.

“Isla, honey,” I call over the yowls of my own captive. “Are you okay?”

She nods at me, her chin wobbling. “I’m alright.”

“Here, let me take him.” Rhiannon kneels beside me, a wad of zip ties in her hand—another piece of advice from Cole was to always carry a supply of them wherever we go. “I can restrain him. You go to Isla.”

While part of me wants to pummel this asshole until he’s blue all over, I lift my chin at Rhi instead. After all, seeing to Isla is more important than assuaging my own vindictive instincts.

Once Rhiannon takes over, I jump to my feet and rush to Isla’s side.

Before I can even get my arms around her, she burrows into my chest. Her hands clutch at my shirt. Damp skin presses against my neck. Pressed against me, I can feel Isla’s heart beating in a frenzied rhythm and her chest rises and falls rapidly.

“I knew you’d come,” she whispers into my neck. “I knew you would.”

Oh.

Tears burn in my eyes.

I could have lost her. One of these men could have shot her. Could have taken her.

My incredible Isla could have been terribly hurt. Traumatized so much worse than she already was.

“Oh, Isles.” I hug her close and press a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry.”

Guilt swamps me. This was supposed to be fun for her. It was supposed to be safe.

How did this go so spectacularly wrong?

“The police are on their way,” reports Erik. He stands and glowers at the man lying restrained in front of him. Then he glances at Isla, his features softening as he looks at her. “Are you okay, Isla?”

She nods, her head bumping my chin.

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