Page 55 of Love Galaxy

Sorin.My heart aches thinking of him. “You’re going to dump me somewhere outside and make it look like I tried running away.” They couldn’t goad me into breaking up with Sorin, so now they’re going to goad Sorin into … what? Panicking about where I am? Searching for me?

No. Mr. Smith can’t risk Sorin finding me alive and finding out what really happened.

“You’re going to kill me.” Buzzing fills my head until I can hardly hear myself think. “You’re going to kill me and break Sorin’s heart on intergalactic TV.”

“Get her into the ship,” Mr. Smith screams, trying to crowd me toward the door.

Sorin.He’s going to think that I abandoned him. He’s going to think I wanted to leave so badly that I risked my life to get away. My whole body’s shaking with the horror of what’s happening. I’m scared for myself. I’m terrified for Sorin.

I don’t want to leave.

I don’t ever want to leave.

Oh, Sorin.This is my home. I was just too stupid to realize it sooner.

The classic you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-got-until-it’s-gone moment. Or, more accurately, you-don’t-know-what-you’ve-got-until-a-chauvinistic-dickhead-and-their-psychotic-secretary-tries-stealing-it moment.

Chloe yanks the door open. Wind rushes inside, tugging at our hair and clothing. She staggers forward, head bowed against the strength of the air, and tries to pull me along after her.

For once, the wind is working in my favor, and I wrench my arm out of Chloe’s hold, right as Mr. Smith straightens. He braces himself against the far wall and shoves me hard, back toward Chloe and the open door. She’s making wild grabbing gestures, trying to catch hold of me. It’s a complete and utter shit show. The worst attempt at an abduction I’ve ever seen. (And I’ve seen two now, so I think I’m a fairly good judge.)

Until— “Release my Mate!”

Sorin!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sorin

Leaping up into the small room, I push Chloe out the open door, close it and snap the lock into place. If she protests, I cannot hear her over the wailing wind.

“I am going to kill you, Drah’os.” Turning to John Smith, I lunge for him.

He trips and falls through the open trap door to lay sprawled at the foot of the ladder. In an instant, I follow, yanking him upright.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he splutters, burrowing his chin into the collar of thickened skin designed to protect his throat. His tail is flicking. If it were long enough, I do not doubt he would have it wrapped around my throat.

“Oh, yes, he would.” Briar scrambles down to stand by my side. “In fact, I’ll do it myself.” Her face is deathly pale, and a dark bruise is forming across one cheek.

The sight of it feels like a knife to my gut. “We will toss your body to the wind, and it will tear your flesh from your bones.”

“The wind will turn your bones into dust,” Roan agrees. “Until there is no trace of you for anyone to find.”

John Smith jumps, evidently having failed to notice my brothers. “The show?—”

“No camera can survive outside,” I remind him.

“And you already turned off all the cameras in here.” Briar points to the one clipped to the bench, whose red light is noticeably absent. “You fucked up.”

I collect the only knife remaining in my kitchen. I do not need to slice through his throat to kill him. I could easily stab him through the heart. Or mayhaps I will cut off his limbs one by one, until he is begging for my Briar’s forgiveness.

“You cannot murder him,” Killan says, crossing his upper arms over his chest and leaning against my kitchen table. We might as well be discussing such mundane topics as crop rotations for all the emotion he is displaying.

“Don’tyoustart telling me what we can and can’t do.” Briar glares at my older brother, as if he is not more than two feet taller than her and more than twice her weight. As if she is willing to fight him, too, for a chance at revenge on John Smith. “After all the crap he’s put us through, I’m pretty sure killing him will be cathartic.” She smiles, her eyes sparkling. “Like therapy, only without the enormous price tag.”

Killan seems to droop where he stands, making it abundantly clear he does not believe he has time for our threats. “Really?” he demands, as if he is confronting a room full of younglings, not grown enough to know their own minds.

“Really,” she agrees, pressing her fists to her hips, then she winces, wrapping an arm around her stomach instead.

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