Page 70 of Point Blank

Serena’s wide, furious eyes stayed locked on him until Brock caught her on the ground. Jesus Christ, he’d thrown her off a fucking balcony. The stomp of feet barreling toward the door got his ass moving.

He didn’t wait to evaluate her landing. Bracing his hand on the rail, he stepped over it, crouched down, and wrapped his hands around the bars. Then he dropped his feet and gravity pulled his weight toward the ground, making the tendons in his arms burn. Dangling above the ground and not seeing where he’d land sent tremors up his spine. A light flicked on in the master bedroom, and he let go.

His feet connected with the grass, sending him into a deep squat. His already overstretched hamstrings cried out. Needles shot through his joints, but he forced himself to stand.

“Are you all right?” He dragged his gaze over Serena.

She nodded. He grabbed her hand and followed Brock’s and Peyton’s retreating steps. He didn’t bother chastising her for not running. His legs ached with every movement. They reached the fountain, and he sandwiched Serena between Brock’s back and him while Brock timed the cameras.

Milo craned his neck over his shoulder. Lights glowed on the second level of the house.

Fuck. They had to get the hell off this property before the guards came downstairs and released the dogs.

“Now,” Brock barked.

They rushed from their hiding spot. Milo stayed behind Serena until they made it to the wall. He turned to her. “You’re going first. Once you hit the ground, run. Don’t wait for us.” He slid the keys into her coat pocket and zipped it shut. “If you don’t see us behind you, get the hell out of here.”

He didn’t want to open his mind to the possibilities of what Titus would do if he caught her.

The breeze caught her hair, making small flyaways dance. She paled. “I’m not leaving you.”

He crouched down and held out his hands. “Do it now before the dogs come.”

She placed her foot in his laced palms and clung to the wall. He lifted her and watched as she swung her perfect ass effortlessly over the top. Next, he sent over Peyton.

He braced himself for Brock’s weight. “Go.”

Brock stepped into his hand and Milo boosted him up the wall.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

His skin turned icy and sweat collected at his brow. Brock extended his hand from where he balanced on top of the wall. Milo jumped and grabbed it, locking his hold on Brock’s forearm. The sound of the dogs’ tearing up the grass reached his ears. He slapped his fingers on the top of the wall and Brock hooked his arm under his bicep.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

Brock cursed; his face pinched with fear. Milo grunted and dug his toes into the wall, scaling the last few inches. He swung his knee, ground it into the stone, and sat up. The dogs’ paws crashed against the wall. His chest was tight, but he didn’t stop to catch his breath. He swung down and landed at the same time as Brock, and they sprinted through the trees.

“Where’d they go?” His gaze took in the trees around them as fear pierced his heart.

“There!” Brock pointed straight ahead, and Milo located Serena’s slim form several paces ahead of Peyton. She must have heard their approach because she stopped and turned to face them. From here, he could see the rise and fall of her chest and the wind picking up the strands of her hair. Peyton stopped too and lowered her hands to her knees. Milo didn’t slow down. If he could have screamed at them to keep running, he would have, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d risk alerting anyone to their location. They had to get to the truck. He pounded his feet into the soft earth.

Serena brought her fingertips to her chest. “Thank god. I didn’t know what I’d do if?—”

“Freeze!” The metallic click of weapons echoed in the space surrounding them. Milo skidded to a stop next to Peyton and raised his hands.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

They were caught. Had it been a trap? Serena’s eyes widened as she looked at him, and her lips parted as she raised her hands over her head. Shapes moved from the brush, and three flashlights swept the night. Less than twenty feet stood between Serena and him, but the space seemed to stretch farther than the sea. Six men flocked around them, blocking every possible avenue of escape. His body ached to stand in front of Serena, to protect her, but moving an inch could be fatal.

“Don’t move,” said a booming voice from beyond Serena’s back. Sandy blond hair peppered with gray and white tapered from the man’s head to his goatee. His skin was crinkled like beat-up leather. His large, dry lips stretched into a smirk. Milo knew the voice. The face. The man . . .

The air grew cold with the force of an ice age. Serena’s slack lip trembled, and her face was paler than the moon above them.

The man moved closer to Serena’s back, and Milo stomped toward them.

“I said, don’t move!” Six weapons were pointed at Milo’s body. Then the man lifted a gun to the back of Serena’s head. “Take one more step and I’ll blow her head off.”

Milo’s muscles bunched. When he got ahold of that motherfucker . . .