Too Late: The Masked Heiress Returns

uffocating darkness. A sharp, grinding pain in her ribs followed, steal

in and swaying trees. The smell hit her first-a thick mix

ster, handing her a glass of champagne with a smile sweeter than poison. "You've looked so

watching, his expression cold and expectant. "Don't be

lurred. Her limbs had turned to lead. She'd tri

loe's ear. "Don't worry, dear sister. We'll make sure

s trembling hand. "I'll drive," he'd

throwing her mind and body high into the air. The last thing she remembered before darkness took her was the

eft her he

-any one of them should have finished her. But somehow, impossibly, she wa

ical genius, her combat training-because they had taught her to be weak, to be grateful, to neve

o survive roared to

ft arm dislocated. A deep gash on her thigh still bleeding. Hyp

nk and slammed her shoulder against the bark. A sickening

arm. She recoiled-then saw it: a man, face down in the mud, dressed in a ruined suit. A sliver

gers to his neck. A p

eon she had sworn never to become again-took over. Int

lippe. This was no ordinary man. And in that cold moment,

dead. Now she would use every skill

tion, she tore strips from her dress, sliced open his shirt, and examin

le field. Just rain, mu

focus took hold. Her eyes turned cold, sharp-the eyes of someone who

probed the wound, located the

dy tensing. His eyes fl

ice was a raw rasp. "Shu

e storm-a woman's face, mud-streaked and rain-lashed, with a fre

ess claime

one, her own strength gave out. She slumped against a tree beside him, her breath com

r cheek, welling with blood. A bitter smile touched her lips. She had sp

pt beside the unconscious man, the r