Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
I won't let that be Winter. My instincts aren't screaming at me because I don't want to share her. They aren't screaming at me because I'm still fucked up from what happened. They're screaming at me because I've been down this road. I know where it leads. Something is off.
"Hey." I grab the arm of the first woman who passes, a petite pregnant woman with jet-black hair and cornflower-blue eyes. Riley introduced her earlier, but for a long moment, I can't remember her name. And then it hits me. Addison Devine. Her name is Addison Devine. "Can you go in and check on Winter for me?"
"Sure," she says, giving me a tiny, hesitant smile. "Is everything okay?"
"No," I growl. "I don't think so."
Her eyes widen. To her credit, she doesn't ask anything else. She jumps into action, scurrying into the dressing room without another word. I pace two steps to the right and then half a step to the left before she reappears.
"She isn't in there," she says.
"What?"
"She isn't in there."
"Fuck!" I roar. "Go find Riley. Tell her to get Anderson here now."
Addison bobs her head, but I'm already ducking past her into the dressing room, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Terror claws through me, threatening to drag me to my knees in the middle of the floor. I fight it, racing toward the only other exit in the room.
I burst through the door, running right into the security guard stationed outside.
"Where the fuck is she?" I snarl, grabbing him by the collar.
"W-who?"
"Winter!"
"She left with her mom."
Her mom. Ah, Jesus Christ. Her mom has her.
Sometimes, being right is a real bitch. This is going to break her heart.
"Which way did they go?" I growl, releasing his collar.
"They just went toward the overflow parking lot," he says.
I pull my gun.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes, reaching for his.
"Try to shoot me and you'll live long enough to regret it," I snap. "Her mom is the one who tried to shoot her, you fucking moron."
The color slides from his face. "What?"
"Send everyone available to the parking lot to help look for her."
"If I lose my job for this…"
"If you lose your job, it'll be for letting her fucking mom in the goddamn building without sending her through the front," I growl. "It won't be for sending me back up to protect her." I turn and run toward the overflow parking lot, not waiting around to see if it gets on the radio to get back up or not. I don't have time to waste.
I pray as I run, pleading with God to let me get there in time. I haven't prayed in years. Fuck, I'm not sure I even believe in God anymore. But I beg him to hear me now, to help me find her before her mother manages to get her out of here and we lose her trail.
I can't lose her. I won't lose her.
"Winter!" I shout, scanning the crowded lot for her "Where are you, songbird?"
A muffled cry from the back of the lot bounces back from the sky.
"Winter!" I roar, charging that way.
I dodge around a pickup truck and my girl comes into view. A lady in her fifties or early sixties clutches her arm in a vise-grip, practically dragging her toward a white SUV a few car lengths ahead.
"Stop," I growl, aiming my weapon at the woman's back. "I'll shoot you where you fucking stand."
She spins around, dragging Winter around with her. I can tell just by looking that they're related. They share the same amber eyes. Though Winter's blaze with love as they land on me. Her mother's burn with madness.
"I'm taking my daughter home," she says.
"You aren't taking my future wife anywhere," I disagree, my voice dangerously soft. "You lost any claim you had on her when you turned your back on her two years ago. She isn't yours anymore. She never will be again."
"She doesn't belong in this God-forsaken city!"
"She doesn't belong in your God-forsaken excuse of a home either," I roar. "What kind of parent spends a year sending their child sick, twisted letters threatening her life and those of the people she loves? What kind of parent fires a fucking weapon at her on a stage? Injures innocent people?"
Her mother's face blanches. "You think I had something to do with that? It's the reason I'm taking her home!" she cries. "I've watched from afar for two years, letting her live her life. But I draw the line at letting music destroy her. I won't watch her die for it!"
Fuck me. She's telling the truth. It wasn't her.
"Brother Gibbs," Winter whispers. "It was Brother Gibbs."
"He wouldn't do that," her mom protests weakly.
"Yes, he would," Winter disagrees. "You know he would, Mama. You may pretend you don't see what kind of man he is, but we both know you do. He isn't a good man. He never has been, and you know it."