I jumped into action as a giant, lumbering beast started toward me. Let's call him Big Pappa.

"Come on, Brent. Time to go." I snatched the small dog, dirt from his paws getting on my jacket, and turned to make our escape.

Except Brent didn't want to play along. He jumped out of my arms and barked at me like I'd done him wrong. He ran around behind me and then leapt, nipping at my ass.

What the hell?

Big Pappa crashed through the line of trees, and I took off, hoping Brent might follow me. Leaves and snow squished under my heavy steps as I booked it to the trail. My heavy breathing disrupted the quiet of the woods. My mittens fell from my pocket and hit the leaf-covered ground. I glanced back to say goodbye but didn't risk stopping to grab them.

A stick snapped under my feet and a burst of wind blasted past my head, the resounding bang of a gun discharging reaching my ear a nanosecond later.

Shit. Did Big Pappa bring a gun to our disagreement?

He shot again, this bullet going further because I heard the sound but didn't feel the rush of wind.

Unless.

Shit.

Did Big Pappa shoot me?

I came to a full stop and felt my back, stomach, and shoulders. My hands came back dirty, but not with blood.

Whoo. The rush of breath left me, and I doubled over with my hands on my knees. Nothing like believing someone shot you to put an end to a chase.

"I will fucking shoot you, cunt." Big Pappa thundered through a set of trees, letting the branches snag him in the face.

My word. "Language." There's no point in being so vulgar. He'd clearly won.

I faced my attacker with my hands in the air, hoping I wasn't just giving him more angles to put a bullet in me.

He stalked toward me, never lowering the gun, and I formed a new plan. Let them take me somewhere and then I'd escape. It was a loose plan at that point, but I had faith the details would come to me as needed.

Brent sat at my feet like he'd run himself out and now wanted someone to carry him home. I rolled my eyes at the dog as he put his head on the top of my shoe. Leaves stuck to his coat and he had mud up to his little doggie knees.

"Why are you shooting at me?" I asked once Big Pappa was only a foot away.

He waved the gun in a shrug. It always amazed me how bad guys used a weapon like an extension of their bodies. It also probably explained why so many of them ended up shooting themselves.

"Why'd you run?" Brent sniffed his shoes and Big Pappa kicked at him, just missing his little doggy body by an inch.

"Hey!" That's rude. Only the worst henchmen kicked dogs.

The possible concussion didn't faze Brent, and he went from running away to right back at Big Pappa's feet, trying to chew on his shoe in under twenty seconds.

Big Pappa shook his foot free and then aimed his gun at Brent. "I will shoot your dog."

"No!" I yelled and shot forward, trying to grab Brent, who decided he had another burst of energy and darted away from me. "Brent, go get help!"

He stared at me like I'd asked him the square root of 144. Dogs. I tried again. "Lassy, go get Timmy."

He barked once and darted away from Big Pappa's next attempt to kick him, racing into the woods and not returning.

No way was Brent off to find help. The first squirrel to cross his path guaranteed my destruction.

"Let's go," Big Pappa said, as he watched Brent disappear through the trees. "Boss wants to see you."

"I'm not really interested in talking to your boss." Honesty was always a best policy, right?

His hand dug into my shoulder as he jerked me in front of him and pressed the gun into my back.

Apparently, they didn't have the whole honestly thing in his criminal element. I tripped over a covered tree root-we were making our own path-and Big Pappa helped me from falling by squeezing my shoulder tighter and jerking me upward.

How nice of him?

A whiff of stale body odor attacked my senses, and then a heavy dab of cologne tried to cover up the smell but only caused me to gag.

I hadn't run far, but the walk back took significantly longer.

"So you guys killed Jalinda?" I asked, hoping to catch him off guard and fill the time. I didn't really believe it, but a good PI used the opportunity when she had it.

"Who the fuck is Jalinda?" Big Pappa asked, dashing my slim hopes of finding Brent and solving my murder case in one swoop.

I shrugged, letting his fingers dig into my shoulder more. I swear he had to be grabbing bone. "Just doing my due diligence."

A girl had to try.

We crested through the trees back into the clearing where the operation continued, as if nothing was wrong. Clearly, they didn't consider me a threat. Their underestimation would help when it came time for me to make an escape.

I tried to work up a few tears to make it even more believable, but I was too pissed about his shooting at me to create them. I mean, really, guns killed people. There was no reason to shoot at someone. Let alone me.

Big Pappa pushed me to the truck where two men leaned against the side like they hadn't just sent their henchman out into the woods to shoot at an innocent person. That was the biggest problem with criminals. No regard for human life.

"I got the girl, boss," Big Pappa said, pushing me between him and a terribly large man. He wasn't tall but round. He had at least two inches of his gut out of his pants. His tucked in polo shirt highlighted it. His face was clean shaven, but evil lurked in his eyes.

I might be in real trouble. Besides the gunshots thing. A man with that much evil wouldn't care about taking me out in a heartbeat.

"What should we do with her, Bruno?" the man next to the boss asked. His eyes glittered with excitement as he studied me.

Yeah, definitely in trouble.

Also, what kind of name was Bruno?

Did he plan to break out in song soon? Predict the future?

Bruno the Boss-I was still too pissed about being shot at to appreciate the moniker-gave me a good once over as well. Then his gaze came back for a second round.

Gross.

He licked his lips and spun his finger like he wanted me to give him a twirl. I flipped him off instead.

Bruno laughed. "Hmm, tall, young, and blonde. You're the perfect specimen. I know some men who will pay a hefty price for your ass."

I blanched but refused to show it on my face. His dirty smirk almost made me gag.

Bruno wasn't anything like Frankie, the mafia leader based in Pelican Bay. Bruno was a criminal.

A new man entered the fold with a clap of his hands drawing everyone's attention. Sweat dripped from his forehead and he wiped it away. I blinked at him, my eyes widening. I only just kept my mouth from falling open and a swear word from escaping my lips.

How dare he!

The tears I couldn't force earlier suddenly popped into the corners of my eyes.

Damn him.

Just when I believed.

"Cargo is all loaded, boss," Broadrick said to Bruno, not once looking in my direction.

Bruno nodded once. "Good. Throw her in the back with the rest and let's go."

"I move guns not women." Broadrick, the world's biggest traitor, turned on a heel, leaving me to become Bruno meat. He walked back to the large semi-truck and gave instructions to the men there.

Three of them with machine guns-machine guns-trotted back, the guns bouncing against their chests. One asshole used the barrel of his giant gun to poke me in the arm.

I saw red and gnashed my teeth together.

I had no plan or weapon, but somehow I was going to kill all of them. Broadrick's murder had to happen first. Then I'd make the rest pay.

"Let's go, baby. The sooner we get back the quicker we can have our fun," the machine gun poking man said.

"Not so fast. This one is worth too much. She belongs to me." Bruno's words stopped everyone in their tracks.

I kept my mouth shut, worried about what I'd say if it opened.

The three dudes, wearing black face coverings, led me to the back of the small moving truck and waited as I jumped inside. Not a single one offered to help me up. Like I said, criminals.

Also, really? Machine guns? Seemed like overkill. Who exactly did they think they had to spray with an assault of bullets? There'd be no way for me to outrun three of their attacks.

The back panel of the moving truck slid shut, throwing the seven of us-three madmen, three machine guns, and me-into darkness.

"This job is sick," one guy to my right said. It was too dark to make out his face.

Another one hit the side of the truck, and it jutted forward. My footing slipped, and I fell back against one of the green metal boxes I'd watched them loading. The front half of the truck was full of them.

The truck turned, and I held on to a corner of a box for stability.

"Careful there, sweet thing," the guy to my right said. "Don't want to blow us sky high."