“Kane,” he answers.
“I’m at Abby’s apartment block—something is wrong. I need back up.”
“You got it.” The line goes dead.
That’s the thing with men who prefer the gray to the black and white. When you’re in trouble, they’ll jump to your help first and ask questions later. And fuck, if I don’t need all the help I can get now. Maybe I’m being overzealous in calling for reinforcements, but I’ll take that over being underprepared, any day. It’s what being in a street gang taught me. Never underestimate your enemy. And I had.
I should have tracked down the stalker who broke into her apartment sooner, but I didn’t. This is my fault. Mine. I reach the door to her apartment, and once again, it stands ajar. My heart expands, until it’s constricting my airways. My lungs burn. Sweat beads my forehead. I slip inside the apartment and glance around the living room when the sound of breaking glass reaches me. Adrenaline spikes my blood. My vision tunnels. My feet don’t seem to touch the ground as I race toward the kitchen. I burst in to find she’s grappling with a stranger.
As I watch, she grabs a knife off the countertop and swipes at him. He steps aside, then throws up his fists.
“Stop!” I yell.
Abby jerks her face in my direction. Her gaze widens.
“Abby, no—" I cry out, but it’s too late. The next moment, the intruder’s grabbed her around the shoulders and pulled her around to face me.
“Let her go.” I take another step, then come to a stop.
He laughs, pulling her against his chest. “You think I’m going to stand by while you marry my woman?”
I stiffen, every muscle in my body wound up, all of my senses on alert, “She’s not yours.”
“She’s not yours, either. I’ll never let you have her.” He tucks her head under his chin and my blood pounds at my temples. Anger flushes my skin. I take another step forward and he scowls. “Don’t come closer.”
“Let go of her.”
“No fucking way.” He squeezes her wrist, and she cries out. The blade slips from her grasp, and he catches it.
My heart slams into my ribcage, anger pulses through my veins. I move toward him, then freeze, for he’s holding the blade to her neck.
“Now we’re talking.” His grin widens. “On your knees, asshole.”
I bend one knee, then the other.
“Put your hands behind your head.”
I comply.
“How does it feel to be on the losing team, eh?”
I stay silent.
“Oh, I forgot. You’re used to it. You’re a loser of a captain, you know that? The least you could do is lead the team to victory. When did you last do that, eh?”
“The team won the last three matches,” I point out.
“They were limited over-matches; they don’t count.”
Jesus, another puritanical cricket lover? How many of them are there anyway? “Is that why you went after her—to get to me?”
He blinks, then laughs. “You give yourself too much credit. Abby and I knew each other, much before you came on the scene.” He lowers his cheek to hers. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”
She stares at me, eyes wide, cheeks shorn of color. She’s barely breathing, her body so rigid, it’s as if she’s encased in ice. I hold her gaze, try to convey to her there’s nothing to worry about. Her eyes flicker, and I’m sure I’m getting through to her in some form.
“Stop talking to each other, or I swear, I’m going to tear up this pretty face.” He raises his hand and places it against her cheek.
A small cry leaves her lips and my heart shatters. My muscles jump. Adrenaline fills my veins. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How do I stop this, how do I get him away from her?
“What do you want? Is it money? I can pay you.”
“Oh?” He tilts his head. “How much are we talking about?”
“Everything. Take everything I have but let her go.” I sense her lips part in surprise, but I don’t take my gaze off of his face. “You know you want to accept the offer.”
His eyebrows knit.
“You know you want to. Take it. Think of everything you can do with the money. We’re talking billions here. All the money from my sponsorships, and my winnings that I have invested—you can have it all.”
“Tempting.” He nods slowly, then smiles. “But no, thank you, I’ll take her instead.” He begins to inch away in the direction of the rear door of the kitchen. It backs onto a fire-escape; I’m sure that’s his destination. It’s how he left last time, as well.
“Wait,” I call out. “You’ll get VIP tickets to the next World Cup.”
He pauses.
“And to every single match played by the English cricket team for the rest of your life.”
He blinks, and I know I have him. I rise slowly to my feet.
“Think about it. A life’s supply of the best tickets. That’s something even money can’t buy.”
I take another step in his direction.
“That is tempting,” he admits slowly. “Every single game, huh?”
I nod. “I’ll throw in tickets to every single Arsenal game, as well.”
He straightens. “Not a footie fan, but Arsenal’s different.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely.” I slide my foot forward. “If I weren’t the captain of the English cricket team, Arsenal would be my team of choice to play for.”
“That last match when they defeated Man-U?” He shakes his head. “That penalty shot—"
“—My fucking favorite.” I’m within three feet of them, when he seems to realize how close I am.
“Stop,” he cries out.
I do.
“If you think you can distract me by talking about sports, you—"
I snatch up the pan from the stovetop and leap forward.
46
Abby
“Oh, my god!” I scream as Cade swings the heavy skillet toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I swear, I feel the breeze as it passes me, then hear the thunk of it hitting flesh. The man cries out, and the knife leaves my throat. He releases his hold on me, and I pitch forward. The scent of cardamom and mint fills my nostrils, and I cry out, this time in relief. His arms come around me, then I’m pushed back and behind him. I snap my eyes open and turn to find Cade gripping the man’s wrist, that’s still holding the knife. He raises the skillet again, but the man—now bleeding from his temple—head butts him in the stomach. He crashes into me, and I lose my footing and hit the floor. Cade must hear me fall for he turns. “Abby!”
“Cade, watch out!” I yell, but I’m too late, for the man manages to pull free of Cade. He brings the knife down and across Cade’s chest. I scream. Cade grunts, then turns and swings the skillet, this time, catching the other guy under his chin. He stumbles back, and Cade swings again. This time, the vessel connects with the man’s chest with such force, I hear his ribs crack. The impact is so powerful, he’s thrown back. He hits the backdoor of the kitchen, which shatters. He falls over on his back, over the remnants of the door, and doesn’t move.