Page 95 of Sinful Lies

Just my fucking luck.

I knew it. I knew she should’ve stayed back, lounging at the spa or sipping overpriced drinks somewhere warm like the high-maintenance princess she was.

But no—here we were.

Her, unconscious in the snow. Me, stuck babysitting.

I dropped to my knees beside her, gripping her shoulders. I gave her a firm shake, not hard—just enough to jolt her—but nothing.

No movement.

My throat tightened.

“Jade,” I tried again, as I brushed the snow off her face.

Still nothing.

My stomach churned, my pulse hammering in my ears as I turned her over, hands shaking like I’d lost control of them. Her head flopped back, and that’s when I saw it.

Blood.

“Fuck!”

A dark, wet streak ran down her forehead, sharp against her pale skin.

“Jade!” I barked, shaking her harder this time, panic clawing up my throat. Her lips twitched, but no sound came out.

My chest tightened, breath coming short as I leaned in close.

She was breathing.Barely.

“Goddamn it,” I hissed, brushing her cheek with my knuckles, fingers trembling. “Wake up, Miss Whitenhouse!”

Her body was limp, dead weight, when I slid my arm under her knees and another behind her back. Pulling her to me, her head dropped against my shoulder, blood soaking into my collar, smearing hot and wet against my neck.

Her skin was freezing.

“Stay with me, Jade! You don’t get to fucking check out on me. Not here. Not like this.”

I tore through the forest like a madman, branches clawing at my face, snow dragging at my boots. The wolves were howling somewhere out there, their cries slicing through the night.

And then there were the gunshots—closer, louder, like thunder in the still air.

Greg.

A chill shot down my spine that had nothing to do with the freezing cold. That bastard was getting closer, and I felt it in my gut—the kind of certainty you couldn’t ignore.

I wasn’t the hunter anymore.

I was the fucking prey.

“Cazzo,” I muttered, tripping over a buried root.

I barely kept us upright, my grip on her tightening like she might slip right out of my arms. Her face was still pressed to my neck.

“Stay with me, Miss Whitenhouse,” I hissed.

She felt heavier with every step.

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