THORN: Lords of Carnage MC by Daphne Loveling

Author:Daphne Loveling [Loveling, Daphne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-07T22:00:00+00:00

18

Thorn

I glide across the floor of the living room holding my boots in my hand, careful not to make a sound. When I get to the front door I pull them on, then move carefully so I can see through the window without being seen myself. There’s no one there.

I quietly move to the front window in the living room to confirm. Nothing there, either. At least, not that I can see.

Slowly and silently, I open the door and slip out, then close it again. The porch is half-lit by the almost-full moon. I back into the shadow, regulating my breathing as well as I can. Leaning around the corner, I look around one side of the house, and see nothing. This side’s in shadow, as well, so I lower myself to the ground and get into a crouch. My left hand reaches back to pull out my Sig Sauer. The night air is chill, but I barely feel it with the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I’ve never been much of a one to feel panic or dread in these situations. I grew up in a world where danger was a constant, so I learned to live with it early. The feeling I get is more of a sick excitement — the excitement that comes from knowing you’re about to engage in the most basic of human instincts at the core level. The instinct to survive.

But this time, there’s a thin thread of worry weaving itself through the anticipation. Because Isabel is inside, and she’s naked and alone. If I don’t get whoever is out here before he gets to her, she could be hurt, or killed.

I can’t have that.

Moving into the shadow around the right side of the house, I continue around to the back, looking behind me often with my gun raised and ready. My ears are scanning for sounds, attuned to the slightest noise, but all I hear is the quiet slip-slip of my boots in the dry grass.

It’s too dark to see footprints or indentations in the earth. The tree line is fifty feet or so away from the house. All I have to go on is instinct, my ears, and what little I can see.

Then, suddenly, I hear it: a small rustling behind me, followed by the merest creak. The bastard is going for the front door.

Quick as I can, I turn around and hurtle around the corner, vaulting up to the porch. I tackle the man before he has time to register I’m there — the element of surprise is all I have on my side. In my peripheral vision, I see one of his arms rise up, and I block it just as a slicing pain nicks into my bicep. Reaching up with my gun hand, I crack him across the face with the Sig Sauer, then knock the knife out of his hands before he can sink it any deeper. The pain stuns him for a second, just long enough for me to punch him again, a solid uppercut that snaps his head back.

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