“Run!” I roar, as I stare down the barrel of a gun meant for the love of my life.
My ears ring as the bullet blasts from the barrel.
9
BELLA
Iscream as the gunshot goes off.
Alex grunts, his tall firm body trembling. I press myself against the wall of the corridor, catching a glimpse of two men inside my room. One sitting on my bed, a gun in his hand. The other stood up … a gun in his hand too.
Both tall and wide and covered in tattoos.
Time seems to slow as I take in the scene. Blood seeps through Alex’s shirt from the hole in his arm.
As I watch the blood pouring down his arm—from the bullet he took forme—I know that I never needed this time. Didn’t need a day. Not an hour. Hell, not even a minute.
And,fuck, now it might be too late.
Alex ducks his head like a bull and rushes into the room. Another gunshot goes off, hits the plasterboard at my feet. I yell and duck to the floor, hands covering my ears, wood splinters and dust filling the air around me. I jump and collapse to the floor in one motion.
Do something, a voice screams.Be useful.
I crawl to the door, peek around the corner.
Alex has wrestled a gun away from one of the men. He spins, using the man as a shield as the other fires. The man ends up killing his accomplice with three shots to the back, then Alex drops him and raises his pistol, lets out a berserker-like roar as he fires two shots.
I snap my eyes closed before allowing them, through a tiny squint, to see the shots tear through the man’s head. I instinctively squeeze them shut again.
Then I hear him slump to the floor with athump.
A second later, Alex’s hand is on my arm. I peel my eyes open. Stare up at him. His face is flecked with blood, his eyes tight with tension. He winces as he speaks.
“We need to leave. Now. Before the cops get here.”
He takes my arm and lifts me to my feet. I almost stumble, my legs turning to Jell-O. He grips me hard. Holds me steady despite the blood still pouring from his arm.
“What the hell just happened?” I gasp.
“Not here—not now,” he grunts. “Look at me, Bella. Really– look at me.”
I stare into his wild eyes.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
It’s not like he asked it before. When we were playing our Daddy games. This is different, more impactful. For real.
Behind him, in the corpse-filled room, I see an image of Grandma again. A smile on her face. Nodding because she knows the truth—she knows I’ve trusted this man as long as I’ve known him.
“Yes,” I whisper. “But Alex … your arm.”
“Keeping you safe,” he snarls. “That’s my only priority. We’re leaving. Now!”
I pressdown on his arm with a torn piece of shirt as we surge up the road in his Lamborghini. He grits his teeth, sweat sliding down his face, but he doesn’t complain. If anything, he looks grateful. Relieved that I’m alive.
Love and care radiate from every solid inch of his body.
He drives into his garage, ignoring the ogling from the tourists. Then leans back with a sigh.
