Page 3 of Grim’s Angel

“McKenna Crane?”

I grip the handle of my suitcase. “No.”

He glances at the photograph again.

It was worth trying.

The shorter man moves to my left, cutting off the path to the road. “We’re here to take you to Las Vegas.”

“Then you have wasted a trip.”

“You signed the agreement,” the tall man says. “Our instructions are to deliver you.”

“It’s a marriage contract, not a prison sentence. I changed my mind.”

“You can discuss that with the buyer.”

“I can discuss it from Black Pines.”

I turn toward the station entrance, but the shorter man blocks my path.

Fear slips cold fingers beneath my coat. My mouth responds before my survival instincts can vote on the matter.

“Move.”

“We would rather handle this politely.”

“Polite left when you surrounded me. This looks more like kidnapping.”

His expression hardens. “Get in.”

“No.”

The tall man reaches for my arm.

I swing my purse.

It catches him across the cheek with a crack that sends satisfaction singing through me. For one magnificent second, I feel dangerous.

Then the strap winds around my wrist, my coat twists around my knees, and I nearly fall over my suitcase.

My brief career as an action heroine ends before anyone buys the film rights.

The man curses while his partner tears the suitcase from my hand and throws it aside. The damaged wheel strikes the pavement with a miserable squeal.

“That suitcase has already suffered enough,” I snap.

The tall man grabs my wrist just below the cuff of my coat.

Pain shoots toward my elbow, and the sass holding my fear at bay collapses.

“Let go of me!”

“Stop fighting.”

“Stop abducting me!”

I drive my heel down on his shoe. His fingers tighten until I can feel the bruises forming beneath them.