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“Duane, let Lucinda go. Please. She has nothing to do with this. I’m begging you. She’s clean as can be. Let her get back to her daughter and grandbabies,” Mickayla said.

Ricochet came around the side of the camper, sidled up to me. Gamble glared at him and shifted closer to us.

“There’s a hole in the floor. It’s not big enough for me to fit through, but I saw he has a knife. Lucinda’s feet are bound. I’m guessing her wrists are, too.”

I nodded. My instincts said we didn’t have any time to waste.

Ricochet kept talking. “There’s a taser and a window hammer on the floor. I don’t know—”

“We’re goin’ in,” I said, and stepped onto the metal stairs leading to the front door.

I flung the door open, but either Gamble or Ricochet kept it from banging into the camper. Duane yanked the knife out of Mickayla’s side, and swung his gaze to the door. I saw a bloom of blood oozing through the fabric and a thin line of it running down from her collar bone.

The sight of that man harming my woman sent me over the edge.

I acted without thought or reason. My hand clamped onto his forearm, forcing him to drop the knife. I used that grip to whirl the asshole’s body toward me.

A glimmer of fear shot through his eyes only to be replaced by defiance. I’d seen that defiant look in many horny assholes before, but this time I didn’t have to hold back. I balled up my fists and pummeled Duane. Hooks, jabs, and a roundhouse. I had no plan and no strategy. Only sheer fury guiding me.

Fighters hit a zone much like runners and other athletes where the world narrowed to them and the opponent. That’s where I was - meting out vengeance the likes this asshole deserved in spades.

In a vague recess of my mind, I heard someone yelling at me. I shook my head and kept swinging.

Then right at my ear, I heard, “Stop, Tundra! Mickayla’s hurt. Take care of your woman.”

It registered that Gamble was ordering me to get to Mickayla - like we’d agreed before I knew what this asshole was really about. I stared down at Duane’s dazed and swollen face for a beat before I moved.

Mickayla was decked out in a strapless red, sequined dress that was obviously meant to imitate the dress she wore at Christmas. It failed. Not only was it too small, but at a glance, I knew it was cheap.

She was leaning against the wall of the camper. The pallor of her skin was startling. She wasn’t quite sheet white, but she looked like she was made of porcelain when usually she had almost a sun-kissed glow about her.

Fuck.

Ricochet had crowded into the camper to untie Lucinda and get her out. I crouched, put an arm behind Mickayla’s knees and one along her shoulders and carried her away bride-and-groom style.

Nickel was midway up the steps when I pushed outside. “What the hell is she wearing?”

My mind reeled at his words because this was no time to examine her apparel. “Not a fuckin’ word. She’s hurt. Where’s Har with the Hummer? Tell them to ram the gate where Ricochet left his SUV.”

Nickel tipped his head toward a ruddy dirt trail leading to the camper. “Already done. They’re drivin’ up now.”

A fire-rescue vehicle was barreling in three hundred yards behind them. A gray Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office SUV right behind fire-rescue.

Shit. I didn’t want to be away from Mickayla.

I glared at Nickel. “One of you talk to the cops. I’m goin’ to the hospital with her. They want me they can catch me there.”

Mickayla stared up at me. “Thank God you found me, Tundra.”

“Quiet, Mick. Save your energy.”

I carried her straight to rescue as two EMTs angled out. “She’s been stabbed at least once, and nicked along her collarbone. She’s losin’ blood fast.”

The EMTs brought out a stretcher, and I placed her on it.

“Honey… I love you,” she whispered.

I stared into her gorgeous blue eyes. “Love you, too. You gotta fight, wild child. Don’t leave me.”