Carter: The Sinner Saints #1 (21 page)

Dylan stood up immediately, his posture rigid and tight. He looked at Boyd.

“We have an issue downstairs, sir,” he said.

The first real flicker of concern showed on Boyd’s face. He stood up. “How big of an issue?”

Dylan didn’t answer, but his eyes narrowed as he gave Boyd a pointed look.

Something had gone wrong. Something bad. Well, this was interesting.

Dylan made a gesture to the guards by the door, and everyone started out of the room. Even Boyd.

Dylan stopped in the doorway and turned toward Rhys. “I’m sorry about this, man. We should be back soon, but for your own safety, I have to ask you not to leave this room.”

Rhys didn’t move an inch as he watched Dylan close the double doors. His back teeth ground together when he heard the soft click of a lock sliding into place.

So, that was how Dylan asked.

Screw that.

Rhys turned and headed over to the set of glass doors that led out into the garden.

He might not know exactly what was going on, but he’d seen and heard enough to know it wasn’t good. The sooner he could give a head’s up to the authorities, the better.

Rhys tried the brass handle, but it didn’t move.

Not a problem.

He lifted his elbow and slammed the palm of his hand down in one swift blow. The flimsy lock mechanism shattered under the pressure.

This time when Rhys pressed the handle, it gave easily. He opened the door a crack, but stopped when he heard the soft creak of hinges behind him.

He turned around, expecting to see Dylan coming back into the room, but the hallway doors were still closed tight. Rhys glanced around, looking for the source of the sound, and he found it on the far side of the lounge.

A small, unobtrusive door concealed in the wainscoting of the far wall swung open. A moment later a woman stumbled through it. She moved slowly, keeping her shoulder propped against the wall for support.

She barely made it all the way inside the room when she stopped. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, Rhys feared that she was going to lose consciousness. She was in bad shape. Her skin was pale, her hair, tangled and matted. Her breathing was labored.

Red hot rage began to burn inside Rhys as he realized that she was the
assignment
that Boyd had called him for.

Hell, she was probably the
issue
that Dylan was dealing with downstairs.

The woman was small, not just a good foot shorter than his six-foot-four frame, but also slight. She had never stood a chance against whatever had happened to her.

Her eyes flickered open again, and she tried another step. It was far from graceful, but somehow she managed to move another couple of inches.

Wherever she thought she was going, she wasn’t going to make it.

Rhys took a step away from the garden doors and the woman’s face snapped to him instantly. Her body stiffened as she tried to pull herself up. Her eyes went wide with panic before her gaze wildly darted around the room.

He knew the look well—desperation, pure and simple. The only thing that mattered was survival.

But even if she could make it out of here, she was in no shape to make it very far.

Her face was smeared with blood. Some of it dried, some fresh. She favored her left side as she cradled her limp right arm close to her body.

Dear God, what had Dylan done to this woman?

Rhys put his hands out in front of him as he took another couple of steps toward her.

“It’s okay,” he said, making sure to keep his voice steady and low. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her whole body tensed.

Rhys took another hesitant step toward her, and that was apparently enough to make up her mind. She pushed away from the wall and ran.

At least she tried to. She didn’t make it more than a stride before her legs gave out under her.

Rhys rushed forward, catching her before she could do any more damage to herself. She struggled in his arms. He could tell she was using every last bit of strength that she had, but it wasn’t much.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, trying to calm her thrashing. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

She stopped squirming in his arms long enough to lift her face to his. Rhys found himself staring down into a pair of wide hazel eyes. They were strangely sharp and clear for how banged up her body was. He saw fear in their depths, plenty of pain too, but more than that, he saw resolve.

“Why?” Her voice cracked.

“Because I’m not a monster.”

She eyed him skeptically, but, after a long beat, she nodded.

Rhys pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her slim shoulders before tucking her next to his side. Her body might have been slight, but she was no fragile bird. This woman was a fighter.

And she was going to have to be. His car might be just outside the front door, but Rhys knew there was still a hell of a long way to go until she was safe.

Continue Reading Rhys Now!

About The Author

Adrienne Bell has lived her entire life in Northern California. She now resides on the far edge of the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and kids. You can follow the minutia of her life on
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