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With Amara gone, there’ll be no more sunrises. No crazy smiles to match mine. No one to cook dinners alongside Killian.
No one to squeeze between us at night.
No muffin. No Killie.
Un-fucking-acceptable.
My body jolts to life at that. I shake Killian off, eating up the space of the security office, and storm out the door. I hear Killian chasing me until he materializes at my side by the elevator.
They’re slow. Fucking useless.
“Stairs.” I swerve to the right, bursting through the door.
Killian’s right behind me. “What the hell is she doing up there?”
“What do you think?” We reach the second floor, not slowing for one fucking second. “She heard us. She heard we were being threatened, and now she’s taking matters into her own hands. With a hitman.”
I’m already making plans for after we rescue her—because we will.
Some hotels don’t have a thirteenth floor. We’ll close down the fifth.
“I knew it.” He doesn’t sound breathless as we reach the third floor. Just mad. Most likely at himself. At me.
Join the club.
“The Is this all you have to tell me? question.” I fish out Cyclone, snapping the blade out. “We should’ve known.”
Killian has his hand on our master keycard. Between my knife and his fists, we’re good to go.
“Why call them here, though?” he asks. We storm into the hallway of the fifth floor. “Why not our penthouse?”
Burn. Burn. Burn. I’m not leaving this floor unscathed. It has to go.
“They would’ve never showed up at our home. My guess is she wanted to end Christopher and gain our respect. Fierce little thing.”
I’ll spank her so hard. I know I will because she’s alive. She’s alive and unharmed. Has to be.
“We do respect her.”
“Of course we do, but she’s a stubborn-ass woman. She’s had it with being in our apartment. With how it’s us who gave her back her shop.” We round the corner, breaking into a run. Anything but to slow down and think about what they might be doing to her. “Then we kept the hotel a secret from her. It was the final straw. She’s had it with being dependable.”
“Makes sense.” There’s no venom in his voice. No I told you so. I’m not surprised. He’s the one who taught me to be that way.
Besides, we don’t have time for that. We’re here.
Killian passes his keycard and we push inside the room.
I’m an anaconda. Violent. Angry. Ready to strike.
I don’t.
Neither Killian nor I do.
We don’t have to.
“Carter, Killian.” Amara beams at us.
She has a gun in her grip—a motherfucking Smith & Wesson. Amara’s pointing it at Christopher and Preston. The pathetic bastards kneel on the floor before her, their hands bound behind their backs. Both looking up at Amara, then at us.
