Rowan stepped away from her brother’s assistant. She frowned at the young woman, a churning unease rolling through her before she slid her attention to the white van parked beside a wall of storage crates before them.
A tingling tension razing her flesh, she walked to the driver’s door and peered through the window. Something told her there wasn’t any chance of spying the keys in the ignition.
Something was going on. Something…
Chris. She called him Chris. She never calls him Chris. It’s always—
She saw movement in the window’s reflection before she heard the click of the Glock’s slide.
Spinning, Rowan dropped to the ground, her broken ribs screaming in pain as her knee slammed into her side.
“It’s a prop!” Tilly shouted, waving the gun above her head. “It’s a prop. I forgot I had it in my bag.”
Rowan crouched on the ground, staring up at the young woman, every fibre and molecule in her being telling her the situation was wrong. Wrong. Her side throbbed with a hot tearing pain that radiated out from her bruised ribs.
She watched Tilly, her hands splayed on the ground, her breath rapid, her heart slamming fast.
“Sorry,” Tilly held out her empty hand, palm outward, her smile sheepish. “Didn’t mean to scare you, Ms. Hemsworth. Why would I want to shoot you?”
Heart racing, Rowan began to stand.
“When I can burn you alive in the van instead?” Tilly snarled, lunging forward to smash her foot, heel first, into Rowan’s face.
Excruciating agony detonated in Rowan’s nose, her lips. She reeled backward, her head smacking into the side of the very van Tilly planned to incinerate her in.
“The beam didn’t work—” the young woman slammed her foot into Rowan’s side, “—the trailer didn’t work.” She kicked her again. “But this will.”
Rowan blocked the kick before it could land, but the force of Tilly’s leg drove her elbow into her broken ribs. Fresh pain ripped through her, stealing her breath. She staggered sideways, refusing to fall completely. Or to cower.
“Don’t you realized that I’m what Chris needs?” Tilly went on, slamming another foot into her side. “Not you.”
Rowan rolled with the kick, agony tearing through her side. Something wet and warm slicked her top lip. She scrambled away from another kick, protecting her ribs as best she could with her arm.
She needed to get on her feet. She needed to get Tilly off hers.
“For five years, I’ve looked after him.” Tilly slammed in another strike, thrashing it about when Rowan wrapped her arm around her ankle until it was free again. “Doing what needed to be done.” She punched her heel into Rowan’s ribs. Rowan let out a strangled gasp, her grip on the woman’s leg faltering.
Tilly broke free, a wild laugh tearing from her as she smashed her foot down onto Rowan’s fingers and then slammed a kick into her side again.
“He only needed me,” she snarled, her stare venomous. “And then you came and tried to mess with my plans!” Each word was punctuated by a savage kick to Rowan’s ribs. Each kick detonated splintering white-hot pain in Rowan’s side.
She curled in a ball, desperate to shield her injury. Desperate for a chance to strike back.
“But. Nothing. Fucks. With. My. Plans,” she yelled with a savage kick to Rowan’s ribs. “Ever.”
She swung her foot back farther, her eyes wild, her stare locked on Rowan’s face.
It was the split-second break Rowan needed.
She lashed out with her own leg in a low sweep, smashing her ankle into the side of Tilly’s knee.
The young woman staggered sideways, hand going to her shattered knee, hateful glare fixed on Rowan. “Cunt!”
Rowan flipped herself to her feet. Agony ripped through her ribs, but she ignored it. She had to. Slamming out a side kick, she drove her heel into Tilly’s chest, driving her backward. Followed it with another. And another. Each one harder than the first. Harder. Harder.
Tilly screeched, stumbling over her heels, her arms pinwheeling.
“Rowan!”
Aslin roared her name, his voice the thunder of an approaching storm.
Her heart leapt into furious flight. He’s here. Oh God, he’s here.
Tilly’s stumbled, the Glock she’d pulled from her tote dropping from her grip. “No!”
Rowan didn’t track its path. Nor look to Aslin. She kept her stare locked on Tilly.
“He’s not yours,” the young woman screeched, lurching sideways as her knee crumpled beneath her weight. “He’s mine.” She curled her fists and lunged at Rowan with murderous hate. “He’s—”
Rowan threw herself into a jumping reverse spinning kick.