Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,139

into me. ‘Ouch,’ I hiss when a heel of a stiletto stabs the top of my foot. People scuffle and curse around me, knocking into me, hindering my attempts to remain still until they sort out the generators. ‘For God’s sake,’ I mutter, shaking off a hand that grabs me for support.

‘You’re coming with me.’ Brent’s voice is close, and it flattens my plan to remain calm. His cold hand turns my blood to ice, and he starts pulling me from the room. ‘Don’t fight with me,’ he says, increasing his grip. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

My panic flares. It’s dark. No one can see me, most importantly Becker. I’ll be taken with no evidence of where or by who. ‘Let go of me,’ I yell, digging my heels in, making it as difficult as possible for him to move me. I just need to hold on until we have light again. Yet Brent is strong and no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop him. So I yell some more, but my desperate cries don’t even dent the noise around me. My stomach has worked its way up to my mouth, and I start to claw at his hand on my arm, fighting and struggling, but my feet continue to stumble forward, my shoulders being barged as I’m hauled through the darkness. All I can hear are Becker’s suspicions of the Wilsons’ involvement in his parents’ deaths. All I can see is Brent’s face when understanding of my deep involvement in Becker’s world descended on him. My breathing becomes short and fast as panic truly grips me.

What’s he going to do? Where is he taking me?

‘You motherfucker.’ Becker’s voice penetrates my eardrums, followed by the cutting smash of glass shattering at my feet. I’m suddenly yanked from Brent’s hold and shoved precisely and delicately aside, and then I hear a roar of anger, followed by the harsh sound of a fist meeting a face.

I jump back as the lights spring on and flood the room with a bright glare, and once my vision has cleared, I find Brent on the floor holding his jaw and Becker looming over him, shaking his fist. I expect Becker to join him on the ground and beat him to a pulp at any moment; he looks spun up with anger, but instead, surprisingly, he grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowds urgently.

Shouting erupts from behind, and I look back on a frown to see a bottleneck of panicked people at the entrance of the showing room. The lights are on. Why the sudden increase of panic and noise?

I see Lucy emerge from the ballroom looking alarmed and Mark looking confused by the pandemonium. He spots me being urgently guided away. ‘Wait up!’ he calls, taking Lucy’s hand and pulling her along behind him. I can’t wait up; Becker is determinedly pulling me through Countryscape, so I wave my arm for them to follow us instead. I catch Brent struggling up from the floor. His eyes land on mine and hold as he brushes his tux down, his grey hair in disarray as he glares at us. And for the first time, I see violence on his face. He looks positively . . . murderous.

Good God.

I return my focus forward, frightened by the intent in his eyes. ‘Becker, slow down,’ I pant, my feet working faster than is safe in my heels. Just like the other time I’ve been to Countryscape, I’m running scared. Becker takes the stairs two at a time, peeking over his shoulder every now and then to check I’m there. Or check I’m upright. I get the feeling his urgency might have something to do with his fear of seriously damaging Brent should we stick around. I can only commend his control, because if I were to hedge my bets, I would have put my life on Becker beating him black and blue. Brent got off lightly.

Once we land at the bottom of the stone stairs, Becker skids to a stop on the gravel and whirls around to face me. His hands rest on my shoulders, his eyes run a quick check of my face before dropping down my body, and his expression twists with worry. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks, genuine anxiety lacing his tone.

‘I’m fine.’ I find myself assuring him when I’m not fine at all. I feel better now Becker has me, but my mind keeps returning to the rampant thoughts bombarding