CHAPTER 17
I drop my gaze, my mouth open to shout to the guys, but Ryder’s eyes are already locked on the window. I watch him stand in slow motion. Rooster and Cue have clearly noticed him moving, too, and perhaps see the pained look on his face, because they’re on their feet before I manage a single breath.
Ryder runs across the rug.
Mack rises onto his forearms when Ryder flings the front door open; it smashes into the wall as Cue and Rooster follow him outside. The glinting camera in the window has vanished. Outside, someone yells, then a series of wet smacks echo through the night—meat-on-meat accompanied by grunting oomphs of pain.
Mack hasn’t moved from his spot on the counter, but if we’re under attack, if the man outside is only one of many, he’s a sitting duck on this island.
