Page 68 of Claimed By a King

“Yeah. They are following behind us.”

Slasher glances over his shoulder out the back window. “I didn’t even notice them.”

“They kept to the shadows just up the road while we waited on the bridge, ready to help attack if needed.”

Slasher and I make eye contact then and he offers me a slight nod.

We are silently in agreement. Our men are good.

“Clubhouse or Dirty Diamonds?” Munroe asks as we speed up the freeway back toward Santa Cruz.

“Clubhouse. I want her to be surrounded by the familiarity of my apartment,” I state before dragging my gaze from Zoe’s face to Slasher’s. “Call Alana. She needs to be there. I get the feeling Zoe’s going to need her friend.”

Slasher nods and does as I ask, and for the rest of the drive I drown everyone out.

I can’t stop looking at her. I can’t stop running my hand over her scraped knee, or watching her breathing for signs of it changing.

Three fucking months.

My fucking chest aches.

What the fuck have they put her through for three fucking months?

Guilt slams into me for not finding her sooner. Why the fuck didn’t I do a better job?

Never fucking again will someone hurt what’s mine.

Unbearable need to have her close consumes me, and I lift her higher in my arms while leaning closer and pressing my nose to the crook of her neck.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

The scent I was searching for to calm my raging nerves is not fucking there, and I jerk back as my heart drops to my gut.

She doesn’t smell like my princess anymore.

Suddenly, Zoe stiffens in my arms, her lids flying open before a blood-curdling scream rips from her lungs and she starts clawing at my face.

Grayson

“Don’t fucking hurt her!” I yell over Zoe’s screams as Slasher tries to pin her arms down to stop her from attacking my fucking face.

“I won’t fucking hurt her!” Slasher yells back as the car swerves off the road a little, the rear fishtailing in the gravel.

“Keep the car on the fucking road!” I demand, this time to Munroe whose frantic eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

“Sorry,” he mutters only just loud enough to hear, meanwhile Stretch leans through the center console to grab Zoe’s flailing legs.

“Zoe!” I yell, trying to get her to register my voice over her screams, but it’s like she’s trapped in a nightmare and can’t wake up.

Each time the car passes under a street lamp, I get a glimpse of her crazy eyes and her bared teeth as she snaps them when she takes a breath to restart her blood-curdling screams.

“Princess! Stop! It’s me! Gray!”

It’s no use. My voice booms in the small space, and yet, it doesn’t even fucking register.

What the fuck have they done to her?

We all resign to the fact that she’s not going to stop screaming and thrashing, so Slasher keeps her wrists in his grip, and Stretch keeps his arms wound around her knees,his body half hanging from the front seat, while I keep her as close as I can, my arms around her middle as the three of us try to stop her from hurting herself.

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