“You won’t kill me,” she says calmly. “My family will?—”
The gunshot cuts her off.
The impact spins her backward into the chai, her scream ripping through the room as blood blooms across her shoulder. Shock flashes across her face, disbelief replacing arrogance as she stares down at the spreading red.
“I will kill you,” John growls, his voice terrifying level. “I need you breathing long enough to tell me everything.”
Hudson steps closer, his gun settling against Laurel’s temple with surgical precision.
“You should’ve left the girl alone,” he says mildly. “That was your fatal miscalculation.”
Henry sobs from the floor, dragging himself backward with his good arm, eyes wild and wet.
“Please,” he chokes. “I didn’t—I swear—she made me?—”
A single shot.
Pace doesn’t even look at him as Henry collapses, screaming anew.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Pace says flatly.
My father cups my face, his composure finally cracking.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I should’ve protected you better.”
I don’t pull away from his touch and instead, lean into his hands, my eyes closing for a moment as I let the warmth of his protection washes over me.
John Denver.
My father.
Colter turns back to me, blood spattered across his knuckles, his thumb gently brushing against my cheek.
“You’re safe now,” he says. “This will never happen again.”
Not a promise
A statement of fact.
And I believe him.
That’s the part that terrifies me.
Because as I take in the bodies, the weapons, the men who moved the instant he arrived—I finally understand the truth they hid from me.
The Shaw name isn’t respected.
It’sfeared.
And now that I see it…I can never unsee it.
And I don’t want to.
47
She’s breathing.
She’s alive.
