Page 64 of Cold Foot Croc

A low growl emanated from Garret and he stood in a blur, dislodging the blankets from his lap.

Raynah struggled upward, and couldn’t take her eyes off him. Garret was only wearing underwear, and every muscle in his body was flexed and tense as he moved to the front window and looked outside. He stood there still as a statue, but the growling in his chest stayed steady and loud.

With a huff, Garret returned and pulled on his jeans in a rush, then left as he was still buttoning them up. “Stay here,” he murmured, but his voice came out too deep, too gravelly.

The stink of anger still hung heavy in the air as she pushed up. Straightening up wasn’t an option, and she cried out and doubled over as a deep pain pierced through her lower belly. She exhaled slowly as she braced against the deep ache.

Fuck, she regretted not getting a couch. She didn’t have anything to hold onto down here but plants.

“Garret?” she called, but he didn’t answer. Outside, there were multiple men talking, but she couldn’t decipher the words.

“It’s okay, baby,” she said in a hushed tone as the pain eased up and she could straighten her spine.

Something was happening. She scanned the living room and found her snow boots by the front door. Her pajama pants were upstairs, and she didn’t have it in her to climb up there to retrieve them. Currently she was wearing Garret’s T-shirt, which only came down to mid-thigh thanks to the baby belly.

She blew out a steadying breath, slipped her feet into her snow boots, and pulled open the door. Outside near the firepit, Garret was talking low with some guy in a suit. His voice was pitched low, but he was pissed. Wreck was out there too, his hands on his hips, listening to the fancy guy. A black Land Rover was parked near the mouth of the road. Garret held a manila envelope in his clenched fist, and was pointing down the road.

“…I don’t care what…”

“…the fuck out of here…”

She only caught snippets of Garret’s voice thanks to the whipping wind. The snow was still falling in earnest. The others were gathering on their porches. Kade looked over at her, his arms crossed over his chest. “Go back inside, Raynah.”

But he wasn’t saying that to Timber, or Sasha, or Katrina.

This was about her…right?

“What’s happening?” she asked as she slowly scuffled toward the stairs.

“Wreck and Garret will handle it.”

The aching was picking up again in her stomach, and she had to pause at the bottom of the stairs, gripping the railing. She yelped and cradled her cramping stomach. God, this was awful.

She lifted her gaze to call out for Garret again, but he was storming toward the Land Rover, and he nearly ripped the door off the hinge opening it. He dragged someone out of the car, and something was wrong. Something was wrong!

Garret threw that man like a rag doll, and the man in the suit was yelling, but Garret was already ripping another man out of the back seat of the car.

“Go!” he roared, pointing up toward the firepit.

The guys were huge, and they looked at each other from where they were crouched on the ground. Their eyes were what froze her breath in her lungs.

They looked familiar. The shade of blue brought back instant memories of that goddamn breeding room.

They looked like the Jackal. One of them in particular looked just like him.

Two women got out of the car as Garret waited by the car, holding the door.

The man in the suit was pleading with Wreck, too low for Raynah to make out over the sound of roaring in her ears.

Was that the Jackal? Was it him?

“We need to go inside,” Timber said. She was right beside Raynah now, and Raynah jumped at her touch on her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she rushed out, panic flaring in her chest as she watched the man who looked like the Jackal stand and glare at her with such a familiar hatred.

Oh God. She’d thought he was dead. She’d thought he was dead!

No, no, no, he was dead, right? Damon Daye had told King the Jackal was dead, and she was safe. Right?

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