My eyes harden, glaring at the struggling guard next to me. I got his thigh, and the blood pools thick around him as he struggles to sit upright. I nicked an artery; a steady thumpsquirts from the wound with every beat of his heart.He’ll be dead any second.
Growling, I push myself up, arms struggling against the pain. Between Killian’s fucking hazing and this shit, my bodyhurts. I could wait, but I’m pissed—pissed at this job, at this fucker behind me. Pissed I’m not in bed, waiting for Collins after her clinicals.
When did I get soft?Probably the minute I fucking fell for my viper and then allowed myself to bask in her concern.Jesus.
I pull my weapon again and shoot him between the eyes. Could I wait? Sure. But it’s the principle of the thing.
Annoyed, I lean back on my knees, leg crying out in pain. A throbbing starts from the wound and as I look down, I see blood start to soak my jeans. It pools into my boot, smearing onto the tiled floors. That combined with all the other blood, and various bodies, this entire room looks like a massacre. I shove a finger into the wound and yelp—the skin is burnt, flesh blackened but at least it was clean through.I’ll survive.
The problem is, I’m on a deadline and this wound is going to slow me down.Fucking fantastic.
I rip a piece of the dead guard’s shirt to staunch the bleeding. Wrapping it around the wound, I make a quick bandage but already it’s seeping through.
I don’t have much time.
Grabbing one of the discarded guns, I pop a few bullets onto the table, all my weight on my good leg and a fire dances up my nerves.Shit.
Limping to the door, I sag against the wall and inhale. My plan to blow this place up is going to be harder now that my running is limited. I could be caught in the blast—or never make it out. And as close to possible death as I am, I’m only thinking about Collins.
Her fragrance, her bright eyes, her ability to put me in my place. Do I risk this?
For her? I’d risk battling hungry tigers in a locked cage.
Lifting my hand, my aim lines up but my hand shakes as the adrenaline fluctuates. Everything aches and my body turns sluggish, blood loss hindering my movements. All the injuries are catching up to me and I feel it—body tired, drained.Done.
But I’m not done. Not now.
Without another thought, I squeeze off two bullets, igniting the others as hungry flames jump to set the rest of the product on fire. It catches like kindling, a roaring fire so hot, I see the inner blue of the combustion zone. Pushing myself, I run down the hall, feet tripping, legs heavy. The chemicals in the women’s stocking room erupt and it sounds like the angry yells of a banshee on the wind, chasing me towards death.
I barely make it to the door, pausing to glance back. That’s my downfall. The fire comes surging toward me and as I open the door, the cold air turns the flames into an inferno.
The blast detonates and I’m thrown clear from the bakery. Skidding across the parking lot, my body is weightless, arms and legs cutting open as gravel clings to me. Across the way, my head slams into the curb, and my ears ring from the impact. I blink.
Everything hurts—and yet nothing does. It’s as if I’m separated from my body, looking down at the carnage I created.
The cold dark sky overhead is littered with white stars. Everything floats and the ends of my vision tinge black. Exhaling, my lungs rattle in my chest and there I see it—the North Star, shining so brightly that it feels like a welcoming embrace of home.
Collins.
She’s my guiding light. The one person I would gladly drown for, if it meant she’d be untouched. I spent years loving her from afar, and now that I have her, I’ll be damned to let her go.Because this isn’t fake—my feelings, what I want. All of it. It’s real. And she needs to know it.
She’s mine. As assuredly as my hair, my eyes or my hand, Collins is mine. She is my very air outside my lungs and I will wither away without her.
My eyes close, thoughts drifting away as I fight to keep ahold of them, as the cold seeps into my bones and the stars continue to shine. All I think about is Collins—her safety, her vulnerability without me. I can’t lay here and just let go—she needs me.
My body doesn’t listen.
Soon the stars blink out of existence and everything goes dark.
30
COLLINS
Maeve paces her office floor, stopping to check the clock mantle every few minutes. Her dark gaze narrows with every tick like it personally offends her. The clinking of the ice in her glass sounds and we hold our breaths, waiting.
I try not to shuffle or fidget in the drab room. The walls are bare, and the pictures are broken. I’ve never been a fan of Pops’ office, but Maeve has taken to it with an axe, hacking pieces of his life into unrecognizable bits.
He deserved it, no doubt. But this is just depressing. And it does nothing to lessen my anxiety.
