Page 73 of Captive Prize

To make matters so much worse, Zoya did not obey.

I didn’t know why I thought she would.

These were her men, here to save her.

When I looked back, she was on her feet.

“Get down,” I yelled.

She looked at me, her eyes hard and a single tear falling down her cheek.

“I wish I had met you in a different life,” she whispered, her voice trembling like a prayer... and then she turned to leave.

Getting to my feet, not bothering to duck down, I lunged for her.

More windows exploded in front of me, bullet after bullet whizzing by me, more than one grazing my body. Fire lashing through my skin with every single rip and tear. Every piece of flying glass that hit my skin was one that didn’t hit her.

I reached for her and pulled her behind my body.

“Don’t go,” I said.

It wasn’t a demand, it was a plea, a warning.

She may have outwitted and outmaneuvered us, but she had no idea what she was dealing with. Not really.

My gun up, I fired back, bullet after bullet, in defense of this woman.

And how did she repay me?

She pulled from my grasp, taking advantage of my distraction and heading back toward the side door.

I turned just in time to see her ripping it open and slipping out into the night.

It didn’t slow. The gunfire didn’t stop.

I kept shooting, firing off three more rounds and killing at least two men.

Still, the gunfire didn’t stop.

Something was wrong.

She was out the door, circling toward them from the side of the cabin.

They shouldn’t be firing.

They should still have their guns up, shooting at anyone who got near her, but not like this.

They weren’t here to rescue her. They did not give a fuck about her safety or well-being.

Shit.

“Zoya,” I shouted as I launched out of the doorway toward the cover of a nearby tree, but she was already too far ahead, closing the distance between herself and them.

I saw it.

The flicker of hesitation, the crack in her resolve.

She was too close to them. Her steps faltered, and then she froze in place.

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