Page 5 of Her Convict Wolf

Prisoner twenty-six… twenty-seven. I’ll be out of here in three minutes.

I will not look at him again.

I’ll forget I ever saw him.

I picture myself getting back in my car, hightailing it back to Perdue. Hiding out in the pub kitchen. Keeping myself safe from prying eyes. I’ll happily spend the rest of my life like that—

Roarrr!!!An incredible sound rips through the air. I jerk away from the table, spin around. At the far end of the chain gang, two of the prisoners are beating the hell out of each other. Bellows and screams; a sickening thud as one headbutts the other. And then a bunch more of them pile in. Fists pounding, chains flying.

“Fucking hell!” screams a guard. “Shoot ’em… in the leg!” They charge off, rifles cocked.

I stand, rooted to the spot.Run, run, run!My brain is screaming.

There’s a bang, and another one.Yikes.I throw myself flat on the ground, cover my face.

But between my fingers, I see a blur of orange breaking away from the rest.

Oh, my god. One of the prisoners has escaped.

And he’s coming right for me.

It’s him.

The earth shakes as he charges toward me. A mass of muscle and raw energy.

He bounds to a stop, inches away, and crouches down in front of me. His chains are hanging loose on his arms and legs and his eyes are blazing.

Whimper escapes my lips. Is he going to tear my throat out with his bare hands?

“Emory!” he grates out.

I’m going to be sick. “Not Emory,” I croak, but it’s way too late for that.

“Emory, it’s Maxim,” he urges, eyes burning with frustration.

Maxim.His name hurtles back through the years. My father’s bodyguard. From a long, long time ago.

“W-why are you here, in jail?” I stammer.

Those glowing eyes of his narrow as they flick from my glasses to my hair, to the tattoo creeping up from the neckline of my shirt. “You’re in hiding. But you’re not safe here. You need to—”

“Fuck…that motherfucker’s escaped!” a guard bawls. “Shoot!”

There’s a clicking sound, followed by a gunshot.

“Agghh!” Maxim grabs his shoulder. Blood spatters between his fingers.

“Maxim! Oh, my god!” I scream.

They shot him. They fucking shot him.

I stay flat on the ground, head swiveling. There are guns pointing everywhere. Mean, trigger-happy guards, who look about ready to kill everyone in sight.

“You need to get the hell out of here, miss!” one of the guards screams. His eyes are bugged out; he looks high. “Forget this ever happened.”

“Go! I’ll come back for you,” Maxim grunts, features drawn with pain.

What does he mean?I barely have time to think as I give him one more panicked glance, then I get up andrun like hell.

---