Destiny Calls Samantha Wayland (the first e reader .txt) 📖

If they weren"t armed already.

There was a rafter-shaking crash from above her, followed by a hoarse shout that she recognized as Brandon"s. Adrenaline surged. She cursed the time it took her to load the gun, her hands shaking. Her mind raced with every lesson Patrick or Brandon had ever taught her as she loaded the clip, chambered a round and then violated the most sacred rule of all. Never put your finger on the trigger until you"re ready to shoot.

Since she didn"t know what or who she"d find, or where, she guessed she needed to be ready now.

She sprinted back down the hallway, desperately aware of the gun in her hand, and crept silently up the stairs. Darting a look around the bend, she saw the upstairs hall was empty and heard the clear sounds of a struggle from the bedroom. Fear clamped around her chest, restricting her already shallow, uneven breathing. As she moved forward, she prayed the thick runner carpet beneath her feet would mask her approach.

Pressing her back to the wall by the bedroom door, she dared another quick look.

Oh Christ.

A large man was on top of Brandon, their backs to her as he covered almost every inch of Brandon"s body and smashed his face to the floor. Brandon bucked beneath him, thrashing to get free. He wore nothing but his thin boxer briefs, his mostly naked body achingly vulnerable even as his strong body fought, muscles bulging. As she watched, his assailant wrapped his arm around Brandon"s neck and pulled back. Hard.

She knew with absolute certainty he was trying to kill Brandon.

Fear, conviction and desperation combined to create a confidence Destiny never would have imagined possible. She could do nothing but act.

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Lunging through the door, she fell to her knees on top of their tangled legs, pressed the muzzle of the gun to the back of the stranger"s knee and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot sounded like a cannon going off in the small room.

The subsequent howl of pain from his attacker was music to Brandon"s ringing ears.

As soon as the arm loosened from around his throat, he lurched to his knees, ignoring the blinding pain in his ribs and shoulder as he threw the man off him.

He was on his feet in an instant, pivoting, ready to fight in spite of his injuries, but ground to a halt when he found Destiny sitting by the door, a gun in her hand pointed at the man now writhing and bleeding all over Patrick"s bedroom rug.

Holy shit.

Before he could act on the startling realization that Destiny had just saved his life, his cop brain kicked in and he got down to business. Yanking open the drawer in Patrick"s bedside table, he grabbed the handcuffs Patrick kept there. He"d been amused when he"d initially made that discovery. Now he was damn grateful.

After patting him down, he flipped his attacker onto his back and stared down at the familiar face. He was one of the men who"d jumped him on the street.

“What the fuck did I ever do to you?”

Even as he shackled the idiot"s wrist to the leg of the bed, his attacker didn"t have the sense to keep quiet. “The Lord will judge me. Not you. You are an abomination.” Destiny gasped, but Brandon just shook his head.

A religious nut. How had he gotten lucky enough to turn up on this freak"s radar?

Dropping to one knee, he grabbed the man"s thrashing legs with the intent of assessing the damage. The man cringed away. “Do not touch me! You are unclean!” Brandon forced his hands to his thighs and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to throttle this asshole. He heard sirens in the distance, coming in fast. Maybe there would be an ambulance with the cruisers. Maybe there wouldn"t. Either way, if the dumb fuck wanted to bleed to death, he could. He would rather take care of Destiny, anyway.

Crawling across the floor, he heard the squeal of tires out on the street. Destiny was staring at the man she"d shot like she was considering doing it again, only aiming higher this time. Her face was pale, her cinnamon eyes huge. When she realized he was coming to her, she pointed the gun at the floor and tried to hand it to him.

He wanted badly to take her into his arms and soothe the stricken look from her face, but he held back. “No, honey, don"t give me the gun. I don"t want my fingerprints on it, it will only confuse things. Put it down next to you then push it away, okay?” Destiny nodded, doing as he"d instructed. The moment the gun was far enough away that he couldn"t accidentally touch it, he reached for her and she lunged into his arms. Dragging her onto his lap, he wrapped himself around her, holding her as close as he could, burying his face in her hair as her legs came around his waist, her arms 105

Samantha Wayland

around his neck. It hurt to hold her, but he needed to anyway. He didn"t know who was comforting whom. It didn"t matter.

He heard the roar of a truck engine and the crunch of the driveway gravel as big wheels skidded to a halt below the bedroom window.

He smiled grimly and squeezed Destiny closer. The dumbass had pulled into the driveway, ignoring all safety protocols when he had no way of knowing what was going on in the house. Though he wanted to be mad, he couldn"t be. He was just relieved.

Patrick was home.

Patrick was fit to be tied.

Leaping from his truck, he pulled his gun and charged up the back stairs and past the broken door, ignoring the shouts of the officers standing in his driveway, still preparing to enter his home. Proceeding as quickly as safely possible, perhaps a little faster than that, he swung around each corner gun first, then charged