Page 45 of Never Fall for an Angel

It takes a few moments before Christian’s dark chuckle sounds from above and his footsteps sound on the floorboards near the stairs. He’s not even running, but he manages to reach the bottom of the stairs just as I’m barreling towards what I hope to God is the front door and running into the night.

The cottage is small and in the wilderness, surrounded by trees at the edge of a large open field. From what I can see in the dark, there’s not a single light in any direction and my only hope is that he didn’t drag me out to some deserted island where I’ll never be able to escape.

“Mila . . .” Christian’s voice looms from the darkness, raising every hair on the back of my neck. “You’re not going to get far.”

My heart pounds in my chest, my mouth dry, but I don’t stop. I left my bag behind. My sweatshirt and my hat, myfuckingshoes,but none of that matters if his only plan is to turn me over to God knows who when this is all over.

I’d rather freeze to death than ever see that man again.

“Little devil . . .” Christian calls, way too close for comfort when I push through the thick underbrush and into the trees. “Come back inside. You haven’t eaten in days.”

“Fuck off!” I yell back at him, my voice shrill with fear and the rushing wind around us. Why the hell is it so windy?

I push faster, forcing my legs to carry me through the heavy thicket when my foot catches on a rock, and I fall straight to the ground.

I groan the moment I land, my elbow erupting in pain. I lay there for a moment, sputtering as my body registers the sudden sound of his footsteps gaining on me.

He’s going to catch me.

Hauling myself to my feet, I rush through the trees. Limbs scratch my face and snag my worn clothes, but I don’t stop running.

Never stop running.

Unless, of course, you nearly run straight off a cliff overlooking jagged rocks below and the rough waves of what can only be the Pacific.

Oh my God.

He really did bring me to a deserted island.

Christian stops a few feet behind me, and when I turn, horror-struck to face him while the rush of adrenaline that was carrying me washes away like he’d doused me with a bucket of cold water.

“Told you, you wouldn’t get far.”

His voice is dark and full of malice. A deadly conviction that I am, without a doubt, completely and utterly fucked.

Christian steps into me, his hand coming up to wrap around my throat and tug me away from the edge of the cliff.

All five stages of grief slip through me before the only sensation I can feel is sinking.

“We finally get that island vacation we always talked about,” he sneers, and it’s at that moment, nearly two days without food catches up with me, and everything goes black.

CHRISTIAN

She’s silent while I carry her back to the cottage, her face pressed to my chest despite her blatant hatred towards me.

Not that I give a fuck.

She can hate me all she wants.

All that matters is that she’s here, safe, and there’s nowhere on this little island where she can run that I won’t find her.

Being shot by the single most important person in your life has a way of helping you see the world through eyes of newfound clarity.

Instead of waiting for the world to be a better place, I should have locked her away and thrown away the key. I should have been there.

I won’t make the same mistake twice.

The lighthouse and cottage loom up ahead of us through the trees. I step through the heavy thicket of underbrush, making my way across the clearing toward the glow of the front porch light.

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