Page 238 of Unleashed
"Goldie." My voice is wrecked. "Goldie, baby. Open your eyes. Look at me."
Nothing.
Three feet. I reach for her. My fingertips brush the air beneath her hand. The heat from under the hood is hitting my face now. The smoke burns my lungs every time I breathe.
"Please, Harper. Stay with me. You promised. You promised you'd stay."
My vision is tunneling, going dark at the edges.
"The baby, Harper. Our baby. You gotta wake up for the baby. Please."
My voice breaks. Something in my chest cracks open that has nothing to do with the crash.
"I can't do this without you. I can't?—"
A lick of flame curls out from under the hood. Small. Running along the leaked fuel, tracing a line across the asphalt toward the car.
I lose my mind.
"GET HER OUT! THE CAR IS ON FIRE! PLEASE! PLEASE, JUST GET HER OUT!"
I'm begging. Ace Sterling is on his stomach in his own blood, begging the men who are trying to kidnap him to save the woman he loves from burning alive. I don't care about pride. I don't care about anything except the fire and Harper and the thirteen-week-old baby I found out about three hours ago.
Hands clamp around my ankles, and they start dragging me backward. I claw at the asphalt. My fingernails crack against the road. I'm leaving blood trails on the ground.
"NO! GET OFF ME! SHE'S GOING TO BURN! LET ME GET HER! HARPER!"
I kick. Connect with someone's knee. But there are two of them and one of me, and my body is giving out.
I can't reach her.
"Harper." I choke on her name. "I love you. I love you so much. Please."
Her hand. Right there. Inches from mine. If she'd just move. Just twitch. Just give me something.
One of the men barks an order in a language I don’t understand. I hear someone move toward the car. Toward Harper. Through the smoke. I hear the click of a seatbelt releasing. The sound of her body dropping from the harness onto the roof beneath her.
They're pulling her out.
I can't see. The blood and the smoke and the tears have taken everything. But I hear her body being dragged across glass. I hear boots moving fast. I hear the fire crackle and hiss as it finds more fuel.
"Is she breathing?" I shout. "IS SHE BREATHING?"
No one answers me.
All I can hear is the screeching of tires from another car as the bag comes down over my head.
I thrash out one more time, and someone's fist connects with the back of my skull.
The last thing I hear is gunshots.
The last thing I feel is the distance between my hand and hers.
Two feet.
And I couldn't close it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
