I turn around just in time to spot Yuri grabbing a gun from a holster on his ankle and raise it to shoot me. I throw myself over Elena, covering her with my body as a shot rings out, deafening in the small room.
I wait for the pain, that sharp, blinding pain that follows a bullet piercing through the flesh. I’ve felt it before, a couple of times in fact, and you never get used to the feeling. To the pain.
“Roarke,” her hands cup my jaw, and it’s Elena’s sobs that yank me from the past. “Look at me, please. Are you okay?”
There’s no pain. Usually, the adrenaline-induced euphoria doesn’t last this long. Why is there no pain?
My head whips around, and lying a few feet from me is Yuri, with a neat bullet hole between his eyes. I quickly grab my gun and point it at the man still standing in the doorway, staring at the fatal wound he just inflicted on his father. It’sunbelievable. He doesn’t seem a bit fazed by the gun pointed at him.
Instead, he stands there like a statue, watching his father with a blank expression. “I gave him so many chances,” he mutters. “But sometimes, the dog is just too sick, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case, the best thing to do is put the animal down.”
Without another word, Alexei Balshov turns around and walks out, leaving Yuri where he lies. Taken out by his own son—the same son whose brother and mother he murdered. Now, isn’t that justice?
Chapter Nine
Elena
“I’m here. You’re okay.A chroí.I’ve got you.”
His mouth moves over my face, my hair before brushing over my lips. A large arm circles my waist, and I am pulled against his broad chest, his hand holding me in place so I don’t see the body lying a few feet away from us. But I’ve already seen more than I should have. Yet somehow, seeing Yuri drop dead didn’t bring half the same fear as the bone-chilling feeling I experienced when I saw a gun pointed at my bodyguard. My husband.
He could have died.
Yuri could have killed Roarke when his only mistake was protecting me—marrying me to protect me.
I lean into the embrace, closing my eyes and trying not to relive that moment, but I know I’ll play it in my head over and over again for a very long time. “I’m sorry,” I sniffle into his shoulder. “This is all my fault. I put your life in danger by being so reckless.”
Roarke pulls back and stares at me. “It’s my job as your bodyguard and your husband to protect you, Elena.” His eyes cross to the man lying behind him before turning back to me.“Let’s get you out of here. I’ll need to come back down here when the cops arrive.”
I nod and don’t argue when he lifts me into his arms, carrying me bridal-style out of the storage room and up to our room. I’m surprised to find our door open and even more shocked by the people inside.
“Roarke, oh my God!” Fiona, dressed in sweats and a tank top with a fuzzy coat draped over her shoulders, runs to us. “You got to her. I was so scared. You have no idea how terrified I was when I saw that second man walk into that room after you.”
“Alexei Balshov,” Roarke responds, his eyes turning to his brother and an older-looking man. I assume he’s Patrick O’Shea, the father, as the man looks like a much older version of the brothers. “He shot his father dead.”
“Are you certain?” Conor asks.
“He’s dead,” Roarke confirms.
Patrick O’Shea, raises a single brow, taps his younger son and nods toward the door. “We’ll go have a look and clean up any evidence that you and the girl were in there before the cops arrive.”
“I’ll join you,” Roarke says. He sets me gently on the couch, then turns to Fiona. His hands are shaking—I can see it even though he’s trying to hide it. “Fiona, can you please help my wife clean up? That fucking psychopath drew blood, and if he weren’t already dead, I’s empty my gun into his evil heart.”
Fiona’s eyes widen when she sees my face, and she nods immediately. “Of course. Come on, Elena.”
I start to protest—I don’t want him to leave—but I see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw is clenched so tight itmust hurt. He needs this moment. So I let Fiona lead me to the bathroom.
The men walk out, shutting the door behind them. I stare at it for a long time after they’ve left, lost in my thoughts and only surface when Fiona taps my shoulder to get my attention. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Elena.”
I nod and follow her to the bathroom. I don’t say a word as she wets a washcloth and dabs at my cheek. I wince.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “It’s not too bad. Won’t even scar. But it’s going to bruise.”
I watch her work in the mirror, this woman I barely know who’s treating me with such gentleness. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For helping me.”
“Are you kidding? You’re family now.” She meets my eyes in the mirror. “That means we protect you. Always.”
Tears blur my vision. I never expected this—people who fight for me, who show up in the middle of the night without question. I’ve not had that, except for my sisters and cousins.
