Stolen Love (Beauty in the Stolen 3)

He shakes me gently. “That doesn’t matter now.” He shoves the guns into the back of his waistband, hoists himself onto a branch, and grabs my backpack.

I catch it when he drops it.

“Come on, Cas,” he says, jumping to the ground. “Stay behind me.”

Turning toward the gorge, he starts running. I follow in his footsteps, keeping as close to him as I can. He’s not running at full speed, but the distance grows between us no matter how much effort I put into it. It hurts to breathe. My heart flutters in my chest, threatening to go on another strike.

It’s futile. I can’t keep up.

By the time we reach the river, my lungs are burning. I’m breathing hard, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen. There’s no way I’ll make the climb to the top of the waterfall.

Ian stops and turns around. Shouting sounds from the direction of the cabin. He gives me one look before running back and lifting me over his shoulder. The path is narrow and rocky. It’s difficult enough keeping your balance while running, let alone with a weight thrown over your shoulder. My body jostles. It hurts my wound. A sense of suffocation sweeps over me. Panic sets in. My lungs threaten to quit.

The backpack shifts from my shoulder and hits the ground. He stops.

“Leave it,” I say.

“Your pills.”

My voice sounds as weak as I feel. “Ian, wait.”

At my tone, he stills.

“Put me down,” I beg. “I can’t breathe.”

He lowers me to the ground, framing my face and searching my eyes as he says, “You can make it, baby doll.”

I can’t. The lost expression on his face says he knows the truth as well as I do.

He shakes his head, denying the facts staring us in the face. “I’ll carry you.”

The path is steep. There’s a rocky ledge where you need to hold on with both hands. He can’t carry me and climb to the top.

“Ian.” I take his hands and move them away from my face. “Go. Run.”

His features harden. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Please, I beg you.” He’s fit and in shape. He can easily run up the gorge and get to the helicopter before the cops catch up with him.

“You’re coming with me,” he says.

Squeezing his hands, I say what he won’t admit. “I’m not going to make it. Go. Don’t let them catch you. You owe me at least that much.”

“No.” He pulls his hands free to wipe a thumb over my cheek. “I’m not abandoning you.”

The words he uttered on the night he kidnapped me runs through my head. He said he’d fight tooth and nail for me, that he’d kill to keep me safe. There are five cars out there, and God only knows how many cops. He doesn’t stand a chance. They’ll kill him.

“Ian.” I start to cry. “Don’t do this.”

“Shh.” He sits down next to me and throws an arm around my shoulder. “I’m here.”

My tears flow faster. “Please don’t let them kill you. I can’t live if they do. Do you understand?”

The light in his eyes is soft as he kisses the top of my head. “Better than you can ever know.”

The shouting comes from closer. Barking. They brought tracker dogs.

“Then go,” I say. “Please.”

His face is resigned when he throws the Glock and his gun into the river. When he holds out his palm, I give him my gun. He throws that into the water too. He watches me, offering me courage with a tender smile as the barking becomes louder and blue uniforms appear through the vegetation on the path.

Holding my gaze, he gets onto his knees and puts his hands behind his head. The stance breaks my heart. Ian is strong and proud. Kneeling doesn’t become him.

The cops clear the bend.

“There they are!”

“Get down! Get down now!”

Weapons are aimed at us from all directions. The dogs strain in their leashes.

“Don’t shoot,” Ian says. “We’re unarmed.”

A man in civilian clothes pushes to the front. “Lie down with your hands behind your head, you motherfucking cop killer.”

Hackman.

“Get down,” one of the cops in uniform yells at me.

“Do as they say,” Ian says, lying down in the dirt.

I lower myself to the ground, watching Ian’s face as someone grabs my arms.

Hackman steps on Ian’s shoulder, holding him down as one of the cops pulls his arms behind his back and slams handcuffs onto his wrists.

The smile Ian gives me doesn’t slip. He doesn’t look away from me as they drag him to his feet. There’s no regret in his eyes when they press a gun barrel between his shoulder blades. The heat in those brown pools tells me the words he doesn’t say out loud. He doesn’t regret kissing me or being inside me. He’s not sorry he took me. If given another chance, he’d do it again. I hold onto his gaze, onto that knowledge, willing it to give me strength as they push him down the path and bark out orders.