Page 67 of The Hunted

28

Raven

Idied. Knox’s father killed me. Under that water, I gave in. I gave up. I resigned myself to my fate. That scares the shit of me. I’m trying to digest everything that happened while Knox is dead-set on taking me somewhere safe so he can go back in to the woods and find the crazy bastard.

“Please, Knox. Let’s just leave. We can just leave and never come back.”

“You can’t leave your family, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him live. Not after what he just did to you.”

“Let me help you, then. I can do something besides pray you return.” Tears begin to form in my eyes, but I try to stay strong for him.

Don’t let them fall.

Absolutely not. I can’t do what I need to do if you’re there. I’ll be too worried about trying to protect you.”

He winces as we walk.

“You’re hurt!” I stop and inspect him.

“Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about. We need to keep moving.”

He pulls me along with him, trying to end the conversation.

“I’m not dumb, Knox. Let me check it.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb. I’m really fine. Just a flesh wound. I promise I’ve had worse. I just need to get you the fuck out of here, baby. It’s too dangerous here right now. I don’t know where Vaughn is. I just need to know you’re safe. Please, just let me get you out of here.”

“Okay.”

I can’t argue with him about this. He’s an assassin, for Christ’s sake. I’m not certain how I think I can help him.

“Okay? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He smiles and cups my face in his hands as he leans in and kisses my lips. If my being safe helps him, then that’s what I need to do.

“Let’s move.”

He grabs my hand, and we make our way as quick as we can toward the side of the manor. He winces with each step and I bite my tongue to keep from fussing over him.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you outside. Some of the MC are still out there. They’ll protect you.”

“You’re leaving me with a biker gang?”

“I never thought I’d say this, but yes. It’s the safest place for you right now.”

The sound of shots ring out from nearby, and we pick up our pace. We make our way toward an old iron gate, perched between endless rows of manicured boxwoods. Knox presses his thumb to a pad, and the gate clicks open. He ushers me through and closes the gate behind him. Row upon row of motorcycles with a group of about ten men greet us, guns drawn and aimed at us. I stop in my tracks, and Knox steps in front of me, shielding me.

“Lazz sent us,” Knox says with his hands raised in the air.

“Who the fuck are you?” A guy with a scraggly gray beard that hangs to his chest asks with his gun still trained on us.

“Bane.”

One word and all the men look at one another before they lower their weapons.

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