He snapped the book shut, his brow furrowing as he reached for his holstered gun.
With a flick of his wrist, his flashlight flared to life, cutting through the dark like a blade.
He'd gone through hell to sneak away from his men, just for one damned night alone.
One night to breathe, to feel something real again beneath the stars.
No one was supposed to find him out here. No one.
But fate had other plans.
When he finally pushed past the undergrowth and followed the frantic sound of shifting leaves, the beam of light landed on a sight that made his blood freeze.
His breath caught.
"…What the—?"
He lowered his weapon in disbelief, his heart leaping to his throat.
"Ryley...?"
Staggering through the brush, barely upright—arms locked tightly around an unconscious Clyde whose head lolled against his shoulder.
The blond was pale, trembling, his body swaying like a ghost caught in a windstorm.
Ryder crashed through the bushes, gun forgotten, urgency seizing his limbs.
