Page 156 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“We need to get home.”

“She is going to pass out if she doesn’t breathe. Pull over.”

I slide my body through the gap and fall unceremoniously into the back seat next to Willow. She cowers away from me, and I have to drag her into my arms by force, clamping down on her forearms to hold her still.

“Get off me,” she screams.

“It’s me, babe. Zach. You’re safe with us.”

She thrashes and writhes like she’s trying to escape from an invisible attacker. I trap her against my chest and hold on with all my strength. We’re losing her fast. I’ve never seen her fall apart like this. It’s scaring me.

“Arianna,” she suddenly shouts. “We need to get her. She isn’t safe!”

“Willow, calm down. Arianna is fine. Briar Valley is the safest place for her.”

“No… not safe… nowhere’s safe.”

“You need to focus on your breathing.”

“I need to protect my daughter!”

Killian breaks every speed limit known to man to get us out of the city as fast as possible. Murmuring reassurances to Willow, I stroke her hair, counting under my breath so she can focus on her breathing.

After half an hour of hyperventilating, she finally crashes. Her body becomes a dead weight in my arms, two tear-logged eyes peering up at me through swollen slits.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

Willow shakes her head. “No.”

“Stay with me. We’re getting out of here.”

“What are the odds that I’d bump into that sicko?”

“What’s his deal? Is he dangerous?”

She physically shudders. “Mason is an investment banker, but he dabbles in property among… other things. That’s how he came to meet Mr Sanchez.”

“Other things?”

“Prostitution, mostly,” she says flatly. “His work often takes him to the states, even though we lived in Mexico. I met Mason at a fundraiser a year or so ago.”

If Dimitri’s business partner is dabbling in shady shit like prostitution, Lord knows what the asshole ex himself is involved in. We’re in serious fucking trouble.

“Why were you at a fundraiser with Dimitri?” Killian snarls.

“Mr Sanchez had to maintain appearances for his public campaigns,” she emphasises. “He’s too well known to keep me a secret. I was expected to play the doting wife.”

Killian’s white knuckles damn near break the steering wheel. He’s struggling to keep his temper in check. I’m surprised we got out of that mess without him killing someone.

Willow begins to rock, tears still soaking her cheeks. I don’t try to touch her again until we’ve pulled off the main road. Killian parks in an abandoned car park, surrounded by a thick camouflage of trees to hide us from sight.

“Who is he, Willow?” he near-shouts.

“I told you—”

“Not that jumped up little shit back there. If he comes looking for us, I’ll break his fancy fucking legs and stick my rifle down his throat. I want to know who Dimitri is.”

“No, Kill. We’re not doing this now.”

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