“I’m sorry,” she said through the door, then he heard her moving away.
His heart, his gut, his head, filled with energy, with rage—not at Anda, but with a need to protect her.
He was about to start breaking down the door when he heard a man’s voice in the room. It was slightly muffled, but he could still hear the conversation.
“I know he’s here. Where is he?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why would a prince be here?” She started telling the story about hurting her foot while the squad had been escorting her out, but she didn’t finish before she cried out.
His hands went flat against the door, then fisted as he strained to hear. What had that fucker done to her?
“Everyone saw you and the prince together under the stage. You’re clearly together or, at the very least, fucking each other. He won’t leave this building without you. If you won’t tell me, then I’ll make you tell me.”
He heard grunts, followed by more of her cries and nearly pounded on the door. He felt so fucking useless. In his head, he said the words he couldn’t say aloud.Anda…Christ, Anda. I promise you, I’ll help. I goddamn, motherfucking promise. Shit!
There was a loud crack in the room, then eerie quiet.
He searched frantically again for a way out, this time pulling out his phone for more light, and finally finding the latch to open the door near the floor. As he pressed it, the door clicked open, and he winced at the sound. He braced himself against the wall of the corridor, in case anyone was in the room and found him, but after a few moments, no one came.
He crouched down and peered into the room, his gun drawn, but it was empty.
He or they or whoever had left and taken her with them.
Shit. Fuck. Shit!
He swept the room, looking for a sign she might have left behind, or evidence the man might have left, but he found nothing but some blood on the floor.
If that motherfucker had hurt Anda…
The room was spinning, his head was swirling in rage and exhaustion and energy and love.
He took a deep breath to get back control. He had to focus if he wanted to get Anda back and he did.
He loved her.
How could he not? She’d just sacrificed herself to save his life. Did that mean she still loved him, too? Or was it just her training to protect a royal that had made her act?
No…it was just her.
She was trained but her love didn’t come from training. She’d never had any training in it, had known so little of it before her parents had been cruelly ripped from her life. No, everything she knew about love was just her, it was her instinct to give and protect and defend at all costs. She’d sacrificed herself for him. Again.
Feeling in control again, he slowly stepped out of the dressing room. He carefully made his way down, pausing near the bodies of the dead squad members which now littered the hallway. There were two missing—had they gotten away, or were they just dead somewhere else?
The light caught a flash of silver and he froze.
Anda’s dress.
He reached down and pulled some gear from the deceased—an extra gun, extra ammo, a couple knives—and slipped them all on his person.
He peered around the corner at the end of the hall, and the sight that awaited him made his blood turn cold.
Anda was slung over the shoulder of a large, burly man in a fireman’s hold, her arms hanging down as if she were dead weight, though he knew she wasn’t dead. The man had wanted information from her, not her life. At least, not yet.
Jesus goddamn Christ.
The man’s hand kept trailing further and further up her thigh. He nearly rushed forward to get her, but that man was not alone. He saw that three other men of his giant build or larger were around with guns and ammo of different types. Unless he wanted to get killed, he couldn’t go after her and make it out alive.
Shit. He’d need help.
