Page 83 of Jenna's Protector

Suddenly, a screech of tires pierces the silence. Harsh headlights flood the street, momentarily blinding us. A dark van barrels toward us and then comes to a screeching stop, blocking our path.

I reach for Sophia, meaning to pull her back and find another way, but before I do anything, the van’s side door slides open, and men pour out.

Dark masks hide their faces.

Panic seizes me, cold and paralyzing. I try to run, to scream, but my legs won’t move. My voice is locked in my throat. Beside me, Sophia goes rigid, a choked gasp escaping her lips.

Max leaps forward, a snarl ripping from his throat. He lunges at the nearest attacker, his powerful jaws clamping down on an arm. But there are too many of them. They swarm him, fists and feet striking, but Max doesn’t relent, defending me with every ounce of his being.

Their hands reach and grab, tearing me away from Sophia’s side.

I scream, struggling against their grip, kicking and clawing with every ounce of strength I possess. But it’s not enough; their hold is too strong, and their determination too fierce.

A rough hand clamps over my mouth, muffling my cries. My heart races, fear flooding every inch of my body. I catch a glimpse of Sophia, standing still, not fighting back.

A gunshot cracks the air. Max yelps. His body thuds to the ground. A wail of anguish rips from my throat, raw and primal, as I watch his form go still, dark blood pooling beneath him.

“Max! No, Max!”

But there’s no time for grief, no time for anything but the blind, animal terror that consumes me. The world spins as they drag me toward the van. I fight harder, desperation fueling my every move.

But it’s futile.

They shove me inside.

Through the tangle of limbs and the blur of tears, Sophia climbs into the van of her own volition, her face a mask of shame and regret.

Betrayal, hot and sharp, lances through me.

The door slams shut, and darkness engulfs me. They force a hood over my head. The van roars to life, speeding away into the night.

I scream, a sound of rage and despair, until my voice gives out, and there’s nothing left but the bitter taste of defeat on my tongue.

THIRTY

Carter

The city lightsblur as I weave through the evening traffic, my fingers tapping an impatient beat on the steering wheel. A glance at the clock confirms what the crawling cars make painfully obvious—I’m late.

I press Jenna’s speed dial for the third time, my heart quickening with each unanswered ring.

“Come on, pick up.”

I will my plea to somehow reach her, to pull her to the phone, but the rings give way to her voicemail. The sound of her bright, recorded voice sends a chill down my spine.

Hey, it’s Jenna! I can’t come to the phone right now, but leave a message, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks!

The beep sounds, and I end the call with a harsh jab, a sick feeling twisting in my gut. It’s not like her not to answer.

I drum my fingers on the wheel, my earlier excitement soured by a growing unease. The lead we uncovered today could be the break we’ve been waiting for, the key to unraveling the tangled web of Jenna’s past and bringing the bastards behind it to justice.

I’ve been buzzing with impatience to share the news with her, to finally offer some hope after all the dead ends and dark revelations.

But now, as the minutes tick by and the traffic crawls, that urgency takes on a desperate edge. I try to rationalize her silence—she could be in the shower or on the other line. She could have left her phone in the other room, but each explanation rings hollow, drowned out by the alarm bells sounding in my head.

I think of the shadows that have haunted her eyes these past weeks, the weight of the memories she’s had to dredge up. I think of the fear that’s clung to her like a second skin, the nagging sense that her past is never far behind. It’s a darkness I’ve sworn to protect her from, a burden I’ve vowed to help her carry.

But right now, stuck in an endless sea of taillights, I feel helpless.