Page 17 of Rivals & Revenge

“Even without this information, she still has the text from the broker setting up the ambush. Odds are, she’ll head there as soon as she is healed.”

“I wouldn’t wait,” she said, giving her head a strong shake. “I mean, she’s wounded and feeling vulnerable—if she thinks taking out the broker wouldrestore her safety…”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and thick, sucking the oxygen from the room.

My spine stiffened, that feeling returning, the one that told me if I didn’t act, I would regret it.

While I may not understand why I should care what happens to my rival. I did know what happened when I didn’t listen to my gut.

I raised my eyes, finally meeting hers. This time I knew they held fire and certainty, all doubts cast into the fire and allowed to burn.

“I’ll make some calls.”

Chapter 11

TIERNEY

Pain lanced through my side, stealing my breath, nearly bringing me to my knees.

I hissed, sucking in as much air as I could before dropping the pillow that had become my constant companion these last three days, to the bed.

“Twenty-eight.” I gritted out, ghosting my fingers across the handle of my newly polished knife.

I made it home from Rossdale’s the other night, my body on the edge of collapse. Even the heavy dose of adrenaline which had carried me across the county was spent. Anger and the need for revenge burned within me, fueling every step—pushing me farther than my stubborn determination could have on its own.

Not even three steps inside the door, my body collapsed, the last of me spent. My only consolation; I was home.

Fourteen hours later, I awoke. My body was still crumpled in the same position it had been when it hit the floor.

I dragged myself to the kitchen and heated myself a cup of bone broth, careful not to load up on heavy foods until I understood the extent of my injuries.

The near-scalding liquid burned going down, but I relished it. Whether it was the sharp, stabbing pain or the heat of the broth, the pain was a reminder that I survived. Someone had come for me—hard, and I was still standing.

Somewhere between scaling his fence and damn near crawling up my front steps, I came to understand that a broken rib might be the least of my worries.

In the three days since, I had come to two conclusions. One: Whoever tried to kill me was a dead man. Now whether they knew it or not, that wasn’t my problem. And Two: There was a good possibility. Scratch that. Probability. Ahren Rossdale saved my life.

I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that last one.

When I woke, finding myself drugged and paralyzed with him sitting beside me, only to wake later and find myself wearing only his shirt—I panicked and assumed the worst.

Now that I’d had some time to reflect on it, that was the only part of my body that wasn’t sore. Not to mention, it just didn’t add up.

I read online about the mysterious fire at Balder’s Grove, and the three bodies discovered there, burned beyond recognition; no doubt Rossdale’s handiwork. I might have been able to chalk it up as a clean-up job by the person who ordered the hit on me if he hadn’t taken the time to retrieve my knives and clean the blood and debris from them.

No. I hadn’t worked out all the pieces of the puzzle that was Ahren Rossdale, but the picture they formed so far said he wasn’t likely to hurt me—for now, anyway.

That just left me with the question of who tried to kill me. Whoever it was left me vulnerable. Unable to breathe or even do the lightest of household tasks without excruciating pain. Hell, I actually found myself longing for some of Rossdale’s pain killers last night—that might just be even more unforgivable.

During a particularly arduous trip to the bathroom that first night, I decided I would repay every moment of pain with one slice from my favorite knife. The most recent sneeze brought the count to twenty-eight.

“Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” I murmured to the empty room.

Flipping my laptop open, I reached for the cable and plugged in my phone. My fingers flew across the keys, running scan after scan of my phone and every program it held.

After exhausting every program at my disposal, the only intrusion I was able to find was someone reading my text messages nearly ten days ago. Nothing was installed, copied, or deleted.

“Rossdale maybe?”

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