Vengeance: A Dark Romance: (Master’s Protégé Book One) by Jane Henry

Author:Jane Henry [Henry, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub

Chapter 9

Cain

* * *

I watch the little dots on the screen dance, then stop, dance, then stop. I asked her if she’s okay and expected a quick response, probably something snarky.

Fine, just polishing my guns. You?

All good, haven’t found any strange men lying in wait or abductees behind my shower curtain, how bout you?

I’m fine, you can call off the babysitters now.

* * *

I sent her a car, but I sent a small team to watch her, too. If she’s right about the asshole being after her, I don’t want to take any chances.

A minute passes. Two. Three.

No response.

I’m in my bedroom in shorts and a tank after a shower, prepared to do whatever work I can through the night. I’ve got a team ready to be briefed in the morning and people working around the clock already.

I go to text her, then stop. Then again. Finally, I decide the hell with it, and shoot her another text.

Me: Hey. You were typing and now nothing. Everything alright?

No response.

I pick up my phone and call Henri, the head of the team I sent to her apartment. His phone rings and goes to voicemail.

No response.

I pull on shoes and grab a jacket, slipping it on as I leave my room.

“Everything alright?” Joe asks me when I hit the foyer at a jog. I fill him in.

“You think she’s in danger?”

“After today? Not something I wanna risk.”

I should’ve duct taped her to her seat and made her come home with me.

“I’ll join you. You taking the Audi?” His eyes gleam, hoping I am.

“Hell yes.”

The truck is good for an ambush, for safety, for a potential shoot-out. But when I have to get somewhere fast? I take the Audi. It goes from zero to sixty in 2.8 seconds and drives up to two hundred seventeen miles per hour. It’s swift, takes corners with agility, but is small and sleek enough not to cause too much attention if I’m careful.

Her apartment is twenty-five minutes away according to GPS. We’ll get there in ten.

“What are you packing?” Joe asks. We step into the room we affectionately call the armory, where our weapons are securely and discreetly stored.

“Ruger and a blade. You?”

The Ruger EC9 functions as one of the best compact concealed pistols money can buy, small and sleek but lethal.

“EC9. Which blade?”

“MK3.” I take it from its sheath and give it a quick look-over. “Are there any others?” The Ontario MK3’s a standard Navy SEAL weapon, six inches of hardened steel perfection finished with a solid, ergonomic handle that doesn’t slip. It hides as easily as a shadow but cuts hard and deep and fast.

I won’t be throwing my blade like Violet.

Goddammit, I never should’ve let her stay at her own place.

I should’ve insisted. I should’ve reasoned better with her. Instead, I let her have her way, and now what?

I call security again but get nothing.

“Swear to God,” I mutter under my breath. “If they don’t have a good reason not to pick up this phone…”

I don’t finish the sentence.

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