“Let him go!” Draven yells from behind us.
Twisting to catch sight of him, I reach out with my bloodied hand, yelling, “Daddy!”
“Fuck!” Samuel yells, jerking on me as he races toward the door that’s just now come into sight.
Samuel barrels into the door. I smack into his back while he fumbles with the latch that’s delaying our escape. Those tiny moments make me hopeful Draven will reach me in time to keep Samuel from dragging me through that door.
“It’s okay, pojke,” Draven says, reaching toward me as I do the same toward him.
We’re so close. So freaking close. And just when I think he’s going to save me, I’m yanked away, and the door slams shut. Samuel spins this way and that before rushing toward a table. He flips over the table, sliding it against the door before moving several large planters against it. They must weigh a ton because he’s out of breath, pushing them into place.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DRAVEN
When the doorslams between me and Tavish, with a loud crash following a few moments later, dread fills me, making my gut churn with anger and anxiety. My beautiful boy is left unprotected and in Samuel’s clutches. He could kill Tavish before I can get to him.
Don’t go there.
I suck in a deep breath to calm myself.
It disnae work. Punching the door several times, pain zings through my hand and up my arm. It’s nae enough to get my head out o' that dark abyss it fell into. My fists fly again. First one, then the other, until pain dumps into my stomach with hate and anxiety.
Taking several deep breaths, I shake out my hands and give them a look. A knuckle’s broken, at least maybe more. But it dinnae do him or me any good. He’s still within Samuel’s clutches. The door is still firmly shut and nae budging. And now I’ve broken at least one o’ my hands.
I let my neck roll, jerking it this way and that to pop it and release the tension. Then I stare down the door. I nae thought I could hate a door, but I do.
Stepping back, I kick at the slab o’ wood, and still it disnae budge. Growling in frustration, I reach for the gun at my waist to shoot out the hinges. Sliding it out o' its holster, I ratchet the slide back, only to undo the action as I quickly change my mind. I could easily hit Tavish.
I shake away the rage monster that’s attempting to blind me to the consequences o' being impulsive and nae thinking things through. Putting the gun back where I pulled it from, I reach behind my back. My hands wrap around the handles, sliding my axes free.
Tossing them lightly, as I stare down at them, I glance between them and the door several times. I dinnae ken if they will be heavy enough to get me through that fucking door, but they’re all I have. I shuffle into place, take a deep breath, and let them fly, chopping at the door over and over as the axes rain destruction on wood that’s centuries old.
A muffled scream from the other side o' the door cuts at me, threatening my resolve and making me question whether this is the right course o' action.
Should I go around and enter the atrium from the other side, through the house, or remain here, hacking at the spot where I last saw Tavish?
I ken I’m damned either way. Leaving might mean that I can access the room, but they could also get out before I get there, meaning I'll not know where to follow or what steps to take to find them.
Nae. Leaving is not the answer.
I redouble my efforts on the door. And finally, it splinters a wee bit when one axe gets lodged in the wood to the handle. Using the other, I pull the stuck blade out o' the door. Inspecting it, it looks ready to give. With all my might, I rain both axes down on the damaged area.
With every blow, the wood comes apart bit by bit. Splinters fly back at me, hitting me in the face and neck. They ricochet, raining down my body, falling to the floor next to my feet. The thought I could injure myself flits through my mind as one piece pelts me just below an eye, but I ignore it and the sharp point o' pain it caused.
I have to get to Tavish.
My breaths come in pants, and my arms burn with exertion. Sweat pours from my body, making my clothes damp and sticky. It drips into my eyes as it runs from the top o’ my head and over my forehead. Dragging my forehead and face across the fabric covering my arms and shoulders, I pause for a moment before redirecting my blows on the tiny opening I’ve created.
Through the hole, I can hear Samuel and Tavish in between fells o' my axes. It sounds like my boy is putting up a fight if the crashes and bangs I hear are anything to go by. The lad is fucking brave and courageous but also shy and vulnerable, and I’m growing to love him more every day.
Two more blows from each o' my axes, and a large chunk breaks away from the door, leaving a slight opening.
“Yes!” I cry, just as I hear Tavish call out, “I'm still here, Daddy. He's not caught me yet.”
“I’m coming, pojke!”
I reach my arms through the hole I’ve created, trying to reach the latch on the door or whatever holds it in place. Unable to reach anything, I continue beating on the door with my axes until the hole widens enough and allows me to see that a table has been pushed up against the door.
