THE IMPACT TRANSCENDED my fist, sending shockwaves throughout my body. The crunch of breaking bones became music to my ears and the scent of blood a delicacy to my nose. One solid punch to the man’s cheek was all it took. Unlike the anxiety brought on by the tranquil sounds of the Georgia estate, the brutal connection focused my attention, taking me back to the octagon, to the combination of exertion and satisfaction. With one clean hit, adrenaline flooded my bloodstream and the guard dropped to the hard Georgia clay.

Flexing my fingers, I took a step back and surveyed his limp body. Damn. He fell too fast, too easy. Every nerve within me craved more.

From the moment I received news that Charli had gotten into that damn limousine with her stepfather, I’d wanted to hit. My fists itched with the need to collide with something—with anything. I’d longed to hear the whoosh of air as it was expelled forcibly from someone’s lungs and sense the impact as bone met bone, and even to witness the spray of blood as a nose broke.

That euphoria brought on while watching someone fall to their knees, as their muscles lost tension and their brain switched off, was second only to the best and most satisfying orgasm. Both were powerful drugs to my system. I could do without them—abstain—but once the high was within my grasp, like an addict I needed more.

My head whipped from side to side as I sought out another victim. Through the low-lying fog, only stripped stalks of tobacco were visible in one direction and clusters of trees in the other. To assure myself of the guard’s unconsciousness, I kicked his side with the tip of my shoe, the dust upon the leather leaving a mark on his dark jacket, the one with the Montague emblem. He didn’t flinch or even groan as I reached down and moved his battered face from side to side. Two fingers to his neck confirmed his pulse was strong. It was then as I leaned down that I heard a soft static-filled plea coming from his ear.

Reaching inside his pocket, I pulled out the transmitter and then removed the Bluetooth device from his ear. Holding it near, I listened as the plea came again.

“Stan! Stan! Can you hear me? Did you see someone?”

I cleared my throat and spoke, elongating my words with a hint of a Southern accent. “No. Damn fog. All’s clear.”

Holding my breath, I waited for a response, praying that I hadn’t fucking blown my chance to free Charli from the manor. I glanced up toward the house. From the lowland of the field, it was a blur of warm yellows and cool blues. The strange combination created an impressionistic masterpiece that I didn’t have time to interpret. All that mattered was that the manor was within reach.

I should have expected sentries. How had Chelsea made it undetected—or had she? Had they watched her? Did Fitzgerald know what was happening?

“Keep watching,” the man on the other end of the two-way radio said. “All hell’s breaking loose up here. We don’t need more.”

What kind of hell? I wanted to ask. Instead, I replied in a voice unlike my own, “Yes, sir.”

The airway went silent.

Under the fog, even the sliver of moon did little to illuminate the transmitter in my hand. I swiped the screen and checked for other stations, other information.

What had he meant by all hell breaking loose?

As I squinted toward the red numbers, I noticed the blood smeared on my knuckles. I flexed my hand, assessing if the blood was Stan’s or mine. Though my hand was tight, my bones were intact. The breaking I’d heard was most definitely his cheekbone and the blood undoubtedly came from his nose.

One last look at Stan and I took a deep breath. He’d wake in a few minutes or a few hours. Either way, I needed to be sure he wouldn’t tell anyone about me, not until Charli and I were far away.

Another search of his pockets yielded a phone and wallet. I threw both items out of reach. I removed his jacket, and then with the help of his shoestrings, I tied his wrists behind him. His belt worked well to secure his ankles.

When Mr. Fitzgerald’s top-notch security guard woke, he’d be propped against a tree at the side of the path, his phone and wallet out of reach with no way to stand or walk for help.

After one last check of his pockets, I turned back toward the manor. This time I was wearing a Montague Manor security jacket, courtesy of my friend Stan.

Instead of running full force as I had after the shock of having Chelsea, not Charli, in my grasp, I moved quickly but cautiously, watching the perimeter, looking for movement, and listening.

The closer I got to my destination, the thicker the fog became. All I could make out was a lake to my side and the manor looming overhead. The condensation continued to distort my vision. I imagined Charli running toward me as Chelsea had. I longed to call out to her, but feared alerting more of the Montague security.

The invasion I planned was solo. Though Isaac had wanted to come along, I’d refused. If this were to fail, I was the one who’d breached the property. I sent him back to the car with Chelsea. If all went as I wanted, I’d call for him to come and pick us up. My Charli didn’t deserve to be sneaking off her own property.

When I’d first seen Chelsea, I was too shocked to look at her, really look at her. But as Isaac reached for her, telling me to let her go, I saw what Charli had told me, what Deloris had discussed. I saw Chelsea’s bruised cheek. Granted in the dim light, I hadn’t seen it as well as I could, but I knew that everyone had been right. Edward Spencer had done that to her.

Though I’d released some fury on the security guy who’d tried to stop me, I had plenty pent up for the asshole up at the manor. He deserved to get some of, if not more than, what he’d given.

Step by step, I moved closer to my goal. My ears were tuned to the world around me. For a city boy, I had a sense of nature. As long as the frogs and crickets made noise, the coast was clear. It was when they stilled that I did too. It was part of how I sensed Stan.

Now that our encounter was past tense, I was relieved I hadn’t found a gun. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have stopped my determination. I told myself to proceed with caution. Just because Stan had no weapon didn’t mean that all of Montague security went unarmed.

The crickets stilled as voices began to register. I stepped in the shadow of the tree line and moved slowly toward the light. No longer was the path hard-packed dirt. It had morphed into a thick, lush lawn beneath my shoes. The moist grass muffled my steps as I progressed slowly forward.

In the near distance were people, many people, all dressed in their finest. They were clustered in groups, their voices hushed yet anxious.

It was then I heard someone coming from behind. Spinning, I saw his jacket, the same as the one I now wore.

“What the hell—”

Crack!

I shook out my right hand as another guard hit the ground. This one at least had cushy grass, which was more than my friend Stan had. I knelt beside his wilted body, making sure that he too was unconscious. He was, but fuck. I didn’t have time to keep tying them up. And lucky for him, I’d missed his nose. I grabbed him under his arms and dragged him back into the trees. Same routine, phone and wallet. I plucked the Bluetooth from his ear and found the transmitter. The lake I’d noticed earlier was only a few yards away. Casually, I dropped the transmitter and phone into the water, the ripples fading into the mist as they sunk to the depths.

The house—fucking mansion—was huge. For a brief moment I recalled my earlier assumptions about Charli. How could I have been so wrong? Looking up at this place, my dad’s assessment had been right. It was a palace and Charli was American royalty. In this world of old money, her blood was blue.

I pushed those thoughts away, not giving a damn about her heritage. All that mattered, more than the air needed to fill my lungs, was that she was safe and in my arms. We’d work out the rest as long as we were together.

The guests were gathered in clusters on the upper patio and the lawn below. Their sheer numbers created a rumble while the blue flashes I’d noticed earlier illuminated the thick air. Barely audible above the din of collective murmurs was the whirl of propellers. It wasn’t loud enough to be helicopters. No, weaving in and out of the fog were drones, filming, recording whatever was happening.

Some of the guests pointed to the sky while others seemed unaware. Mindful to stay out of not only the people’s sight but also the drones’ cameras, I moved quietly, making my way away from the crowd and around the far end of the mansion. With each step toward the front, the flashing lights grew brighter, saturating the fog with an omnipresent blue. Peering around the final corner toward the front driveway, I saw them: one, two… I continued to count. There were seven police cars with their lights flashing in front of the mansion.

My heart raced as I contemplated various reasons for their presence.

Was Charli all right? Did this have to do with Adelaide? Had Magnolia Woods tipped off Mr. Fitzgerald?

Taking a step back into the shadows, I removed my phone from my pants pocket. I’d had it on silent.

I swiped the screen.

The red number alerted me of my numerous text messages.

First message from Oren: “WE’RE TAKING OFF NOW. SHE’S STILL UNCONSCIOUS. LET ME KNOW ABOUT ALEX.”

Text message from Isaac: “CHELSEA SAID IF ALEX HASN’T LEFT, SHE IS STILL ON THE MAIN LEVEL. CHELSEA IS SCARED BUT SAFE.”

Text message from Patrick: “FUCK. SOMETHING HAPPENED. ARE YOU SURE YOU GOT AUNT ADELAIDE? ALTON JUST TOOK ALEX AND SPENCE TO HIS OFFICE. FIRST FLOOR, EAST WING. SHE’D BEEN JUST ABOUT TO LEAVE.”

I held my breath as I scrolled.

Text message from Patrick: “POLICE ARE HERE. THEY’RE ASKING FOR SPENCE AND UNCLE ALTON. THE STAFF IS TRYING TO KEEP THEM AWAY. GUESTS ARE GOING CRAZY. THIS IS FUCKED UP.”

Text message from Patrick: “I SAW HER. SHE’S OK. SHE’S STILL IN HIS OFFICE. POLICE ARE THERE.”

Text message from Deloris: “DON’T GET ARRESTED. USE YOUR HEAD.”

Fuck her. Fuck them all.

At least I knew Charli was still there, seemingly safe in her stepfather’s office.

I sent a text to Patrick: “I’M HERE. WHERE ARE YOU?”

Patrick: “THANK GOD. THEY CORRALLED US TO THE BACK. SOMETHING IS HAPPENING UPFRONT.”

Me: “THERE ARE SEVEN POLICE CARS.”

Patrick: “WHERE ARE YOU?”

Me: “NEAR THE FRONT OF THE MANSION.”

Patrick: “OUTSIDE? I’M COMING AROUND.”

Me: “LEFT SIDE IF FACING FRONT.”

With my back against the side of the house, I gripped my phone tighter. I was prepared to walk into a party, but not past a shitload of policemen. And then it hit me.

I sent another text. To Deloris: “HOW DID YOU KNOW THERE WOULD BE POLICE?”

Deloris: “IT’S ON THE NEWS.”

“Shit, I almost walked right past you.” Patrick’s voice stopped me from replying to Deloris.

I stood taller as Patrick slipped into the shadows.

“What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t know. Are you sure Aunt Adelaide and Chelsea are safe.”

I nodded. “Yes, I just read the texts. Now I need Charli.”

We both stepped quietly from around the corner of the house at the sound of voices. Still within the shadows, the scene played out in our full view. Edward Spencer was being led toward a waiting police car with his hands secured behind his back.

“Fuck!” Patrick whispered.

“Take me back around,” I whispered. “With all the chaos back there, I can slip inside the manor with you.”

Patrick nodded. “Take off that security coat. I’m not going to ask how you got it.”

“Good,” I said as I shrugged it from my shoulders.

He eyed me up and down. “I think this is the first time I feel better dressed.”

Only Patrick would think about our attire during a time like this.

“Follow me…” he began.

Suddenly we both stopped as the police cars began to move. One by one, like a parade, they drove away from the manor and toward the front gate.

“I wonder what in the hell happened,” Patrick said. “This place is a madhouse.”

“Just get me inside…”

Before we took off toward the back, the LED-blue cast of headlights skirted the front of the mansion. With our backs against the limestone we stood and waited as a long black limousine came up the driveway.

Patrick tugged at my sleeve. “Come on.”

“No,” I growled. Whatever was happening, it was big. I felt it in my soul.

Patrick sucked in a deep breath as another fuck flew from his lips.

Fuck was right.

I’d seen the pictures, the surveillance. I knew these damn people better than I knew my own family. The woman leading the way, the first to descend the front steps, was Suzanna, Edward’s mother. Dabbing her eyes, she was a step ahead of the other voices as they made their way toward the bottom of the steps. Slowly the car came to a stop and an older driver walked to the rear and held open the door.

It was as the others came into view that my blood heated, going from ninety-eight to 212 degrees in a second flat. Heat radiated from my skin as my fists once again clenched.

Alton Fitzgerald had Charli’s arm in his grasp and was leading her toward the car. Her steps were tentative as if she were resisting his intentions.

“No fucking way this is happening again,” I vowed.

Her voice was strong. “I shouldn’t be going. We have guests.”

My teeth clenched as my hands balled tighter. Charli’s pleas were the last bit of fuel my body needed, the spark to my already combustible rage. No other sounds registered as I ran toward the limousine.