Page 110 of This Bitter Sweet Temptation
No way can I close the gap, much less keep them visible in this fog.
Snarling, I reach for the gun at my waist, bring it up, and aim.
Shit visibility.
Exhaling slowly, I squint and squeeze the trigger.
One man bellows, but he keeps moving.
Not good enough.
I only grazed him.
So I push faster, ignoring the invisible shark that’s ripping my knee apart with its teeth, ignoring blinding pain so intense it makes me want to vomit.
The mist swirls around me like a curtain, damp and unsettling as we get closer to the shore.
I barely see them now.
They’re galloping too fast for me to catch up. Not in this state.
No point in firing aimlessly when it won’t take them down.
Then my leg fully seizes and drops me.
I go down hard in a patch of mud, slamming my side. Wheezing.
My whole body groans, angry and spent as I haul myself back up. I should be an expert at ignoring agony by now.
Not today.
The violent, stiff throb in my leg makes it impossible to press on, and by the time I reach the fence in this soupy fog, there’sjust a loud squeal of tires and a black SUV darting down the back road.
Mission aborted. But for how fucking long?
I curl my fingers around the cold metal fence post, panting. My lungs heave fire.
Not even a license plate to go off of. I’m skeptical perimeter cameras could’ve captured anything in this mess.
No distinctive features. They hit us at the perfect time.
The camera over the basement door would’ve captured their basic build and eyes behind the masks, but that’s it.
How thehelldid they make it inside with nothing else tripping?
I slick a hand through my hair, swiping it back, wet with morning gloom and my sweat.
If I had a team at my disposal, I’d have them out combing the property while I had someone else swooping in to usher Cleo and Kit off to a safehouse, along with the cursed egg.
But it’s just me, myself, and I.
Jaw clenched, I turn back and plod to the house, pulling out my phone and scrolling the security app, looking for any disturbances missed, any movements, cameras pinging, anything.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Fuck, I can’t do this alone. Not against two assailants—two.
Apparently, professionals who put serious thought into this break-in.
