The Dark Elite (The Dark Elite 1)

To my surprise, the yard isn’t fenced or gated like I expected. Maybe it would’ve looked too damn conspicuous if they’d barricaded themselves behind a massive wall. I dart around the side of the house and down the long driveway, and the second my feet hit the sidewalk, I break into a full-out sprint.

It’s been days since I’ve done more than lie on a bed with my arms tied over my head or sit crammed between two large men in the back of a car, and my body screams in protest as I run. My stitches throb, and my shoulders ache as I pump my arms, trying to go faster, faster.

Darkened houses fly past me, but I barely look at them. I know they’re big like the men’s house, which means they must live in a fairly expensive neighborhood, but I don’t pay any more attention than that until my lungs begin to burn so badly that I have to stop.

Wheezing and gasping, I dig my phone out of my pocket. The battery icon is flashing a warning, and for a moment, my heart seizes up in terror. I don’t even dare try to call Brian, for fear of sucking up the last bit of juice just connecting the call. Instead, I text him a single sentence, telling him the cross streets where I’m currently standing.

The phone makes a little noise as the text is delivered, and then the screen goes black.

A wave of panic rises up, threatening to drown me, but I clutch the dead phone to my chest and crouch down beneath a thick set of shrubs that borders a property on the corner.

I can’t be more than a couple miles from the men’s house. But I have to hope that I’m far enough away for Brian to reach me before they track me down.

Assuming he actually got my text.

My grip tightens on the flip phone, my fingers squeezing it so hard I’m afraid I might crack it. I hunker down as low as I can, hiding in the shadows as I wait.

I stare out at the dark street with wild eyes, scanning the horizon for any sign of someone following me. Even the smallest noises make me jump as I imagine Hale or one of the other men—or all four of them—coming after me, pissed and angry.

Please, Brian. Please hurry.

I crouch under the bush for so long that my joints grow stiff and the sweat cools on my body.

Then a low purr meets my ears, and a second later, headlights flash, illuminating me in the darkness. They’re so bright I can’t see

the driver, but I can make out the shape of a dark sedan. My heart claws its way into my throat, and I brace myself to run or fight. Is it my captors? Have they found me?

But then the driver stumbles out of the car, racing toward me.

“Grace!” Brian’s voice washes over me.

Within seconds, he pulls my body into his, wrapping every inch of me in a protective hold that no one can take away from me. Not even the goddamn mafia.

He found me. He came for me.

“Oh my god, Brian,” I sob into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I keep repeating those words over and over, wishing I didn’t have so fucking much to be sorry for. Wishing I hadn’t made so many mistakes.

He grasps me tight to his body as all of my emotions come flooding forth, making my body shake. I bury my face into his neck as he picks me up and carries me back to the car, his grip firm and strong.

“It doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. I’m here, Grace,” he says softly. “You’re safe.”

19

Grace

I wish we could get on a fucking plane and get the hell out of Chicago immediately, but it’s three o’clock in the morning, and the next flight isn’t for several hours. Besides, I have no ID on me, something we’ll have to sort out once I can think straight.

Brian takes me back to the hotel room he’s been staying at since he arrived in the city, and even though my entire body feels anxious and too-alert, I recognize that we’re as safe here as we’d be anywhere else if the men come for me.

Will they come for me?

Will they try to get me back?

I try to shove aside worries about them showing up at the hotel and getting into a shootout with Brian.

When I mentioned my fear to him in the car, he told me not to worry, that I’m safe now. The hotel is booked under an assumed name and paid for with a prepaid card, so it’d be hard to trace it to him. He’s taken all the precautions he could to stay low profile and off the Novak’s Syndicate’s radar.