people, Sarah, and the Bennetts cause it all. How much blood will make it right?”
“I’m pregnant , Max.”
“Yeah,” he said. “So fucking think about what’s best for that baby, growing up in the middle of a goddamned war he wasn’t supposed to cause. Think about what you really want. You aren’t a murderer. You’re stronger than that.”
I met his gaze. “No. I’m not. I won’t stop until Darius is punished for ruining my life, my family, my…everything. And don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t do everything in my power to get justice.”
“And once he’s dead?” Max leaned in. “Who else are you going to punish?”
Myself.
“Anyone who dares to endanger my family.”
Max grunted. “Christ, you are an Atwood.”
“And you’re a Bennett.”
“And this is one weak-fucking truce.”
The door slammed behind him.
What was his fucking problem?
The blankets twisted under my feet. I kicked them away. I often felt used after my time with Max, but the words he said and the regretted hate in his voice were new.
Guilt blended with a new wave of weeping, but I’d be damned if either Max Bennett or my raging hormones forced me from the bed. Our conversation was over. I didn’t care if I got another apology, if I slapped him again, or if I finally figured out why he sounded so goddamned lost every time he talked to me.
Like he already mourned for me.
I wrapped the blanket over me just as a sizzling pop echoed through the beach house. The air conditioning squealed, and the grind of electronics abruptly silenced.
I hadn’t felt an earthquake. Why else would the electricity go out?
The silence didn’t settle. It crashed.
And I knew.
I burst from my room for Max—fight forgotten, ready to run.
“ Sarah !”
Max shouted from the living room. I called back, but the splintering crash of glass muffled my cry. Hamlet yipped and ran with me to the kitchen. I forced my dog beneath the open island. He whined, but I covered him as a second torrent of shattering glass rained over the house. The crunch of wood slammed the front door against the wall.
The security system stayed silent. No explosive barrage of sirens and flashes that always tripped up Josiah when he snuck out at night.
Whoever broke into the house studied how to disconnect the system.
Max’s profanity roared. In the darkness, a shadow launched over the sofa and crashed into the coffee table, wrecking it into pieces. The man grunted, and the sickening crunch of fist against shattering jaw echoed through the room.
I screamed as an unfamiliar snarl bit through the night. Hamlet surged forward, knocking the second shadow to the ground. The man he attacked howled in pain.
“Sarah, run !”
Max’s order gurgled over bloodied words. I crawled from behind the counter. My chest tightened. I ignored it. Hamlet attacked again, lunging for the man holding Max. My step-brother’s choked grunt and pounded struggles snapped over the living room.
He told me to run.
But they’d kill him.
My fingers curled over the stool before I realized how stupid it was for me to try to fight. I rushed forward, crashing the chair over the head of one of the intruders. He groaned and collapsed.
The flash lit the living room.
The gunshot came immediately after.
I didn’t even scream. The shot fired so close to me the heat practically seared through my shirt.
It was too near to my tummy, and I realized what I almost lost.
Hamlet bolted, unharmed but terrified by the sound. He wasn’t the only one.
A second shot fired, but this one aimed for the intruder. He crumpled to the floor.
Dead.
I threw up. Max shouted.
“Sarah, get the fuck out of here!”
Max killed a man.
A man who hunted me.
This wasn’t happening.
I tripped backwards, kicking the fallen man as I blindly sprinted away from the guns, the blood, the body . I rushed into the night and kicked a path through the sand. The roaring surf muffled any other sounds from inside the beach
“I’m pregnant , Max.”
“Yeah,” he said. “So fucking think about what’s best for that baby, growing up in the middle of a goddamned war he wasn’t supposed to cause. Think about what you really want. You aren’t a murderer. You’re stronger than that.”
I met his gaze. “No. I’m not. I won’t stop until Darius is punished for ruining my life, my family, my…everything. And don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t do everything in my power to get justice.”
“And once he’s dead?” Max leaned in. “Who else are you going to punish?”
Myself.
“Anyone who dares to endanger my family.”
Max grunted. “Christ, you are an Atwood.”
“And you’re a Bennett.”
“And this is one weak-fucking truce.”
The door slammed behind him.
What was his fucking problem?
The blankets twisted under my feet. I kicked them away. I often felt used after my time with Max, but the words he said and the regretted hate in his voice were new.
Guilt blended with a new wave of weeping, but I’d be damned if either Max Bennett or my raging hormones forced me from the bed. Our conversation was over. I didn’t care if I got another apology, if I slapped him again, or if I finally figured out why he sounded so goddamned lost every time he talked to me.
Like he already mourned for me.
I wrapped the blanket over me just as a sizzling pop echoed through the beach house. The air conditioning squealed, and the grind of electronics abruptly silenced.
I hadn’t felt an earthquake. Why else would the electricity go out?
The silence didn’t settle. It crashed.
And I knew.
I burst from my room for Max—fight forgotten, ready to run.
“ Sarah !”
Max shouted from the living room. I called back, but the splintering crash of glass muffled my cry. Hamlet yipped and ran with me to the kitchen. I forced my dog beneath the open island. He whined, but I covered him as a second torrent of shattering glass rained over the house. The crunch of wood slammed the front door against the wall.
The security system stayed silent. No explosive barrage of sirens and flashes that always tripped up Josiah when he snuck out at night.
Whoever broke into the house studied how to disconnect the system.
Max’s profanity roared. In the darkness, a shadow launched over the sofa and crashed into the coffee table, wrecking it into pieces. The man grunted, and the sickening crunch of fist against shattering jaw echoed through the room.
I screamed as an unfamiliar snarl bit through the night. Hamlet surged forward, knocking the second shadow to the ground. The man he attacked howled in pain.
“Sarah, run !”
Max’s order gurgled over bloodied words. I crawled from behind the counter. My chest tightened. I ignored it. Hamlet attacked again, lunging for the man holding Max. My step-brother’s choked grunt and pounded struggles snapped over the living room.
He told me to run.
But they’d kill him.
My fingers curled over the stool before I realized how stupid it was for me to try to fight. I rushed forward, crashing the chair over the head of one of the intruders. He groaned and collapsed.
The flash lit the living room.
The gunshot came immediately after.
I didn’t even scream. The shot fired so close to me the heat practically seared through my shirt.
It was too near to my tummy, and I realized what I almost lost.
Hamlet bolted, unharmed but terrified by the sound. He wasn’t the only one.
A second shot fired, but this one aimed for the intruder. He crumpled to the floor.
Dead.
I threw up. Max shouted.
“Sarah, get the fuck out of here!”
Max killed a man.
A man who hunted me.
This wasn’t happening.
I tripped backwards, kicking the fallen man as I blindly sprinted away from the guns, the blood, the body . I rushed into the night and kicked a path through the sand. The roaring surf muffled any other sounds from inside the beach
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