When Rivals Love (Bayshore Rivals 3)

Sullivan moves closer to me, and Banks watches Oliver as he walks slowly to the front door. The knocking grows louder, harder, more insistent. Whoever is on the other side of that door is growing more impatient by the second.

“Are you guys expecting someone?” I ask Sullivan, just as Oliver makes it to the door.

“No, which is why I don’t have a good feeling about this.” His words have barely left his mouth when I look up and see Oliver opening the door. All hell breaks loose then. Immediately the door is forced open, knocking Oliver back against the wall.

I stand up so fast, the chair I was sitting on falls back and crashes to the floor. My head is dizzy, and fear has a tight grip around my throat, making it hard to breathe. I want to go to Oliver, but that would only put me in danger.

Two large men dressed from head to toe in black enter the house. One of them closes the door behind him, while the other one pulls out a gun and aims it at Oliver’s chest.

A gun. No, no, no.

One of the intruders starts yelling something, but somehow my brain can’t decipher what he’s saying. My hands start to shake, and my lips wobble. Maybe I’m in shock, or maybe it’s the fear I have of watching someone I love being hurt or worse.

Banks grabs me and shoves me behind him and Sullivan, building a wall in front of me. Because they are so much taller than me, I can barely look past them and over their shoulders, but that doesn’t mean I’m panicking any less. In fact, my panic has reached new heights, because now that I don’t have a clear view of what’s happening, I don’t know if Oliver is okay, or if one of these men are coming for Banks or Sullivan.

“Everybody, calm down,” a gruff voice orders. “You do what we say, and no one needs to get hurt. You do the opposite, and well, I’m sure you know what’s going to happen.” A coldness sweeps through me, and I do my best to continue breathing, tiny little black spots form over my vision, the bubbling panic residing inside me is only getting worse.

“What the hell do you want?” Banks speaks, his tone defensive.

“Right now, I want everybody to slowly grab a chair and sit down with your back against that wall over there.” Peeking around Banks, I can see that the man is pointing to a spot in the dining room. “We’re going to have a nice little chat.”

I try to step around Banks and Sullivan, but they don’t let me pass. They’re like an immovable mountain. Instead, they push me back against the wall, keeping me shielded from the man making demands.

“Just relax and take a seat,” a second voice orders, and only then does Banks pull up a chair and motion for me to sit down. Oliver comes up on the other side with two more chairs, a menacing look in his eyes. A moment later, all four of us are lined up against the wall.

The two men each grab their own chairs and sit down in front of us, with their guns in their hand, but they’re not pointed at us, not right now, at least. My eyes stay trained to the weapons. I know it wouldn’t take much to raise a hand and shoot one of us. All of us. Just the thought of it has my heart beating against my ribcage with the force of a sledgehammer.

Now that I have a better view of the men, I allow myself to take a good look at them when they’re facing away. Both of them are tall and muscled like brick walls.

Something tells me they probably don’t need those guns to inflict major damage on their enemy. One of them has a huge scar across his face, making him look like some kind of ancient gladiator. The other one has tattoos all over his hands, neck, and even some on the side of his face. At a glance, I can tell you that I would turn and walk the other way if these guys approached me at any time.

My breathing is ragged, and even I can tell I’m close to passing out.

“You need to calm down, or you’re going to hyperventilate,” one of the men barks. I can feel his dark gaze on me, and that only makes matters worse.

“What do you want?” Oliver grits out, diverting the attention away from me.

“We’ve been made aware that you four have been making threats against our boss, and we do not take threats of any kind lightly.”

“There must be a mistake, we don’t even know who your boss is, so how the hell could we possibly be making threats to him,” Sullivan interjects, and I want to tell him his condescending tone isn’t going to help us, but I can’t even get my lips to move.