GEORGIA
SCREECH!
The tires of my armored SUV screeched in protest as my driver whipped the heavy vehicle through the towering iron gates of my private estate.
My heart slammed a frantic, bruising rhythm against my ribs as I sat in the backseat, clutching my sobbing daughter so tight my arms ached.
Beside me, James sat wrapped in a dark, lethal silence. His chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths, his knuckles bruised and coated in drying blood.
The vehicle jerked to a halt in front of the grand stone steps.
My security team rushed forward, pulling the doors open. James stepped out first. He did not wait for the local police. He bypassed my human guards, marching straight to the trunk of the trailing security car. He hauled the surviving kidnapper out by the collar of his dark jacket.
