He draws his weapon.
Thepop-pop-popof return fire from the Kozlov men is sharp and efficient. Alexei joins in, his actions fluid and precise.
I curl into myself behind him, slapping my hands over my ears and slamming my eyes shut. Still, the noise overwhelms me.
Blood thunders in my ears. My breathing comes in rapid, short bursts, like I’ve just run a marathon.
A coppery tang fills my mouth from where I’ve bitten my cheek.
Glass crunches beneath Alexei’s shoes as he shifts position. After one final shot rings out, silence descends.
Slowly, I crack open my eyes. I’m huddled behind my kidnapper-fiancée in a wedding boutique, surrounded by a blizzard of shattered glass and a headless mannequin. Alexei’s gun remains drawn, his body prepared for more action.
Outside the ruined window, I glimpse men in dark clothes retreating down the street and melting into the crowd.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat and escapes. Alexei’s head snaps toward me, his eyes narrowed with what might be concern. I can’t tell.
His hands flow over my body, gently checking for wounds. “Are you hit?”
I shake my head, the laughter dying as quickly as it came. “No. Just…just terrified. The usual.”
Terror seems determined to rule my life.
Chapter 29
Alexei
The silence in the loft echoes louder than that sniper’s rifle. From the shadows, I watch Aurora’s silhouette darken the window against the city lights, her shoulders curved inward and arms wrapped tightly around her body.
Ice cold fury continues to circulate in my veins.
The enemy touched her today. Not with a bullet, but with fear.
They marked what’s mine.
Images cycle through my mind on repeat. Glass on the floor. A plastic, headless bride. Several .308 casings that Kolya will have already collected for analysis by now. Aurora, huddled on the floor behind me in shock.
A failure.
Myfailure.
Someone got close enough to take a shot. At my fiancée. The woman I publicly claimed as my own.
Chyort vozmi.
Aurora drifts toward the master suite as if on autopilot. My bedroom, not the guest room where she’s been sleeping. An emotion dangerously close to concern stabs my chest atthis silent choice, this unconscious seeking of safety within my territory.
I follow her as the red silk robe she wore home following the chaos whispers around her calves. The image of her in the middle of the boutique surrounded by flying bullets and shattered glass is imprinted on my brain.
So red.
So vulnerable.
So close to being taken from me.
She flinches when I appear in the room behind her, the small, frightened motion another blow to the chest. Proof of my failure.
I prowl closer as she peers into the bathroom mirror. “That will never happen again.” Not words of comfort, but a vow.
