“But this time?” Dieter pressed.
“I’ll stay back. I can’t believe that we’re doing this again, but it was folly to believe that my father would give in so easily.”
Entry Team
Flicka von Hannover
I am nothing but rubbish,
just worthless, discarded trash.
Flicka’s hands balled into fists around the crisp manila envelope when she heard a swish through the card reader outside the hotel room’s door.
The calvary.
Flicka tensed to jump toward them. She crammed the thin envelope in the purse hanging on her wrist and snapped the purse closed. Her mouth still tasted like the whiskey her father’s butler had handed her.
The front door slammed open.
Dieter and Friedhelm leapt inside, guns drawn.
Flicka sprinted for Dieter, grabbing him around the neck as she crashed into him.
Dieter grasped her around her waist and whipped her behind him, aiming his gun at the few older security men in the room and her father.
She plastered herself to his back, trying to stop crying, but the world had crashed around her. The only solid point in the ground that trembled under her feet was Dieter,always Dieter,and she clung to him.
Dieter asked, “Did he hurt you? Did that assholehurt you?”
“No,” she hiccuped, trying to control her voice and failing utterly. “He didn’t hurt me. I’m all right.”
His arm tightened around her as he held her against his back. The heavy muscles under his suit shifted. “I swear to God if they hurt you—”
“They didn’t hurt me. Just, please, get me out of here. I can’t stand another minute.”
She looked over his shoulder and glared at her father, who was smiling, that jackass. His other security guys laid their weapons on the floor and raised their hands.
Dieter announced through his jawbone mic, “Clear!”
Wulf walked into the room, flanked by more of his men.
Flicka couldn’t even look at her brother. Had he known about Pierre? Probably not. He would have told her. Wulf wouldn’t have let her marry him if he had known.
Flicka pressed her face to Dieter’s back, trying to not look like such a damn mess. His arm shielded her while he aimed his gun at the men.
Her mind swirled and flipped and screamed in rage and despair.
Everything she had accepted about Pierre had been a lie, all a lie.
And Flicka couldn’t cope with the ramifications.
Her father’s last remaining security guy stood with his hands in the air and stared at the ceiling.
Wulf held up his hand. “Everyone out.”
Flicka could feel the rumble in Dieter’s body when he said to Wulf, “You’re not staying in here alone.”
“Everyone out,” Wulf repeated. He said to Dieter, “Take Flicka back to the hotel. Leave a few men outside the door for my transport.”
