Another vehicle—a black SUV with reinforced plating—swerves into our lead car, effectively boxing us in. The coordination is flawless, professional. This isn’t some opportunistic street gang or desperate competitors. This is military-grade planning.
Gunfire erupts around us like deadly fireworks. Muzzle flashes strobe through the tinted windows as my remaining guards engage the attackers. Bullets ping off our reinforced doors and bulletproof glass with sounds like steel rain, each impact a reminder of how thin the line is between safety and death.
My stomach clenches with familiar dread, but I keep my expression impassive. This isn’t my first ambush—won’t be my last if I survive the next ten minutes. But something feels different this time.
This time, I have something far too precious to lose. I can’t leave this world without telling Robin Rivers that I love her.
Because I do. God help me, I do love her.
So I need to survive.
As chaos reigns outside, my mind betrays me with flashes of Robin’s face. Her smile just a few hours ago when she talked about discussing our future. The way she laughed when Maisie spilled orange juice on her dress at the restaurant. The fierce protectiveness in her eyes when she talks about her family.
Ifshehad been in this car…
The thought hits as hard as the goddamn ambush. If Robin had been caught in this crossfire…
Bile rises in my throat. I force it down, force myself to focus on the immediate threat, but the images won’t stop coming. Robin’s blue eyes wide with terror. And then worse: Robin trying to shield her siblings from bullets meant forme.
“Clear a path!” Leon barks into his comm. “Priority Alpha! Get the boss out!”
Our driver floors the accelerator, the powerful engine roaring as we slam into one of the attacking vehicles. The impact is tremendous—I’m thrown sideways against the door, my shoulder absorbing the brunt of the collision as pain shocks me back into the present moment. The attackers’ car spins away, tires screaming against asphalt.
But there are more.
There are always more.
Through the spider-webbed rear window, I watch one of my most loyal guards—a man whom I know has daughters of his own—take a bullet to the chest as he lays down covering fire for our escape. He collapses and doesn’t move.
I don’t allow myself to look away. Another life lost for me. Another family that will receive a death notification because I exist, because of my choices, because violence is my stock in trade.
“Incoming left!” Leon shouts.
I brace myself as another SUV clips our rear quarter panel, sending us into a controlled skid. Our driver, another veteran of countless close calls, corrects expertly, but the maneuver sends me sliding across the leather seat.
As we swerve to avoid a head-on collision with a third attacker, my head slams against the reinforced window frame with sickening force. Stars explode behind my eyelids, bright and sharp.
I press a hand to my temple. When I pull it away, my fingers come back slick with blood.
“Eva?” Leon’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, though my vision blurs at the edges and the world tilts at an uncomfortable angle. Concussion, probably. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the symptoms.
But even through the disorientation, one thought cuts through with crystal clarity: Robin could have been here. She could have been killed because of me.
The car finally manages to ram through the attackers’ blockade, tires smoking as we burst free of the kill zone. And then Leon is crawling into the back seat with surprising nimbleness for such a large man.
“Hospital,” he calls back to the driver. “Now.”
“No,” I snap reflexively. “We can’t risk?—”
“Non-negotiable.” His dark eyes are fierce. “You’re concussed, probably worse. We’re going to the hospital.”
I want to argue, but the world keeps tilting sideways and my thoughts feel like they’re swimming through molasses. Leon has been taking care of me since I was sixteen years old. If he says hospital, I go to the hospital.
Even if every instinct screams that showing weakness—any weakness—could get us all killed.
Happily, the private medical facility that Leon directs us to is a discreet operation that asks no questions and keeps no records. I sit upright on the examination gurney despite the nurse’sprotests, a small bandage covering the gash on my temple. My vision has mostly cleared, but my head still throbs with each heartbeat.
