Page 114 of Theirs to Hunt
The Bentley had a remote override.
I did not have access.
But I knew who did.
I fumbled my phone out of my pocket, hands shaking, and hit the contact.
"Dad. I need you to open the car. Remote access. Now."
No confusion. No delay.
Just Grayson’s voice, calm and sharp.
"She is trapped?"
"Bulletproof glass. Jammed doors. She is unconscious. We do not have time."
"I am on it."
Seconds dragged.
Too long.
Too fucking long.
I knelt again, one hand on the handle, the other still pressed to the glass.
"Reagan, baby, stay with me. I am not ready. I have not told you enough things yet. Haven’t pissed you off the right ways. Haven’t kissed every part of you. You do not get to go yet. You hear me?"
The locks clicked.
I ran to the passenger side.
The driver’s door had been shoved back from the impact.
No way it was opening.
I yanked open the other side and caught her as she started to slump forward.
Warm.
Still breathing.
"She is breathing!" I shouted, relief crashing through me as the fire truck came around the corner.
I cradled her to my chest, hand at the back of her head like she would break if I let go.
"You scared the shit out of me," I whispered, forehead resting against hers. "That’s strike one. If you do not wake up soon, you are looking at strike two."
The paramedics moved in, their voices distant through the rushing in my ears.
"Sir," one said gently. "I need to get a collar on her and check for spinal damage."
I let go.
Only because she needed it.
Only because she mattered more than anything else right now.
