Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43714 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
All the guns are held across their bodies, including Finlay’s – no one aims at anyone else. Not yet. But there’s something in their body language that screams they aren’t going to back down.
“Says who?” one of them calls back in a thick Scottish accent that is much thicker than Finlay’s and harder for me to understand.
He sounds like the type who’s lived his entire life here and never had the reason or opportunity to have his natural accent watered down.
“Says the law,” Finlay shouts, shifting into a stronger stance, his legs planted firmly apart. It’s the kind of stance you might use if you need to take a steady aim and fire true.“This is private land and protected by the Wildlife act. So you’re not just trespassing. You’re shooting at protected animals.”
There is a low, scoffing laughter amongst the poachers and I realize that’s what they’re here for.
They were shooting at the deer.
I can’t even imagine why they wanted one – they don’t need to hunt for food, not in this day and age. And they are all dressed well, if only in muted and unstylish outdoor gear.
No, they have to be here for a trophy.
The thought makes me sick.
“Who’s going to stop us?” the same man who spoke first calls back, he was clearly the ringleader.“You and whose army?”
There’s a pause.
Finlay shakes his head, staring them down defiantly. “I don’t need an army,” he replies. “All I need is the dash cam mounted on the front of that buggy. Right now, it’s sending a live feed down to the security office at the house. Smile, lads. You’re on camera.”
The men look at the buggy and me while Finlay continues to stare them down. There is a general shift amongst them, as though they’re uncomfortable.
“We have permission to be here,” one of them shouts. The ringleader whips his head around to stare at the man as if he’s spoken out of turn.
“From who?” Finlay calls right back.
“The Laird,” he replies, which only makes Finlay chuckle and shake his head.
I don’t have a chance to hear what his reply is. Instead, my attention is taken immediately by the fact that the driver’s side door has just been opened.
I know it’s not Finlay instantly, and tension and nerves hit me.
I twist in my seat away from the window I’ve been staring out of as it all unfolds.
Now I face a stranger who is climbing into the seat beside me. His gun pointed right at my face.
I take one gulp of terrified air, and my scream turns into a squeak when he thrusts the gun closer toward me in a clear warning.
He’s filthy, smeared with dirt as though he tried to camouflage himself for the deer. He must not have realized it wasn’t going to work, anyway.
I don’t know much about deer, but I have the feeling they probably have pretty sensitive noses, like most herbivores. And this man stinks of stale cigarettes, beer, and sweat.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he leers at me, or at least that’s how I interpret the almost unintelligible mumble of his accent, the words seemingly smeared into one another.
I look sideways out of the front windshield. Finlay is standing there, and his head swivels toward me.
He must have heard me scream.
And that isn’t all.
His gun is also pointed firmly at the man sitting next to me, and though I know it isn’t loaded and can’t harm anyone, I know that the poacher beside me doesn’t.
It’s strange. Even surrounded by strange men with guns and sitting next to a poacher who could either shoot me or steal the vehicle and drive off with me….
Looking at Finlay, I don’t feel scared at all.
Deep down, something in me knows that it will all be fine. He won’t let anything happen to me.
His gaze is steely through the glass, his stance firm, the aim of his gun unwavering. He exudes strength and confidence.
And I know that he will never let anything happen to me – not while he still has breath in his body.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Finlay
“Get out of the car,” I say very calmly. “Or I’m going to blow a hole in your skull.”
“We’ll shoot you dead if you do,” the leader of the poachers, the oldest and the one who has spoken the most, calls up to me.
“Fine,” I call back. I don’t bother looking around at them. Instead, my eyes are trained on Alana and the prick sitting next to her.
“Just know that everything is recorded and backed up to the cloud, and the police will be knocking on your door tonight. And I’ll die knowing I’ve done everything I can to protect her.”
I look at Alana as I say this, hoping she can hear the message I’m trying to send to her.
That it doesn’t matter what they threatened, I’m not backing down, and they aren’t driving off with her.