Page 167 of Without a Trace
“I’m fucking trying to!”
The look in his eyes—terror, fury, love—knocked the air out of my lungs.
Alden appeared at my side, blood on his shoulder, eyes wild. “Rhett’s stable. Bastard winged him.”
Scarlett. Focus.
I pulled free from Trace and moved with them—low, fast. Heart a drumbeat. Every step a choice.
Zeke took one down with a clean headshot.
Trace caught another before they breached the deck.
Gun raised. Deadly calm.
One shot. Clean. The man crumpled at my feet.
Trace stepped over the body, chest rising fast, blood on his hands. His voice was low and lethal.
“Touch her, and I’ll put every fucking one of you in the ground.”
I froze. My heart thrashed in my chest.
Then Alden was there—shoulder bleeding, shirt torn, eyes wild. He didn’t say a word. Just shoved the next one back, hard, slammed his elbow into the guy’s face and didn’t flinch at the crunch.
He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to.
I could feel it.The rage in both of them.The line that had been crossed.And what they were willing to do now that it had.
Alden stayed at my back, always between me and the threat.
It lasted ten minutes.
Maybe less.
But it felt like forever.
When it was over, I was breathless. Knees scraped. Trace’s hand still wrapped around my wrist like he couldn’t let go.
“You okay?” he asked, voice raw.
I gave a shallow nod, lungs still dragging in ragged air.
The bracelet pressed cold into my wrist—silent, knowing.
Something inside me had tilted.
Not fear. Not anymore.
Just the quiet pull of inevitability. Of becoming.
Scarlett
“You let them walk right up to our door.” My voice didn’t shake. It burned.
Rhett sat slumped against the railing, shirt bloodied, shoulder wrapped, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. “We didn’t let shit happen, Scar.”
“Then explain the bullet that nearly took your arm off.”
