My gun is kicked across the room before I can regain my composure. Two large hands wrap around my neck and squeeze. Even if I wanted to scream, I can’t. Instead, I preserve as much oxygen as I can, digging my nails into my attacker’s arms and rolling our bodies forward in an attempt to gain the upper hand. Now on top of my assailant, I’m able to take in his face. His expression is a mix of anger…and fear. As if he knows he has to kill me if he wants to live.
His hands squeeze my neck tighter and black spots form in my vision, followed by a painful burning in my chest from the lack of oxygen. The grunts of the man strangling me start to sound distant.Think, Zahra, think.A final rush of adrenaline hits me as I release one of my hands and reach for my knife that’s tucked away in my pocket. With my last bit of strength, I unleash it and stab my assailant right in the thigh. I feel a rush of warm, sticky blood leak from his leg.
Sweet, sweet, oxygen floods my lungs a second later as a loud howl leaves his lips. What an amateur. Any soldier worth his salt would never have given up so easily. I pull my knife out of his leg and he manages to kick me off. Reaching out immediately, my nails dig into his shirt, partially ripping it, but refusing to let go. The room door slams open but I have my eyes fixated on the man—or should I say boy—in front of me.
My knife stabs into his other thigh, and I relish in thesound of his flesh ripping, effectively incapacitating the traitor. I plan on leaving it in initially, not wanting him to bleed out before I can get answers from him, but with his shirt ripped, my eyes immediately go to the tattoo of a vulture on his chest. Not again.
All I see is red as I yank my knife from his thigh and aim it at his heart.
“Who are you working for? Tell me, NOW!” I demand.
He says nothing.
“Tell me or I swear I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you live, just so I can spend everyday of the foreseeable future torturing the information out of you. I’ll break bone after bone, and stick you back together, just so I can do it again,” I spit, grabbing his head and banging it against the concrete floor.
That manages to enrage him. “A woman could never break me.”
“A woman has already broken you,” I seethe, applying pressure to one of the stab wounds, drawing another screech from him. “At least this way you get to choose how you are broken. You still have some pieces of you left. I promise that won’t be the case in a few months.”
“I choose THE KING. A princess will die, and THE KING WILL RISE,” he screams, wrapping his hand around my wrist and shoving my knife into his heart before I can stop him. The color drains from his face immediately, his limp body falling to the ground in a thud.
“NO!” I slam my hands down on his bleeding chest. “TELL ME WHO SENT YOU. TELL ME. TELL ME.” I pull the knife out of his chest and continue to slam my fists into his lifeless frame, screaming as I realize once again I’ve gotten closer to the truth, only for the rug to be pulled out from under me.
“Zahra, breathe, I need you to breathe.” Declan’s facehovers a few inches from mine, as I realize he’s kneeling right next to me. His voice softens as he adds, “I’m going to pull you off him, will you let me do that?”
My fists relax at my side and I give him a small nod. He lifts me with ease and pulls me into his lap.
“I had him, Declan. I had him right in my hands. I just saw the tattoo and I lost it. I just lost it,” I groan, adrenaline fading as my head starts to pound.
“I know you did. I promise you we’re going to figure this out, but right now we need to get you cleaned up and have your head checked out.” He reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”
My body screams for him to carry me, but I can’t let my men see me like that. They need to see me strong. Undefeated. Unbroken. I pick my words carefully. “I need to walk out.”
Declan’s eyes harden as he understands my unspoken reasoning. He gives me a nod before grabbing the arm of my assailant and dragging his body along with us.
The soldiers standing in the center of the room part as I walk through. I say nothing, opting instead to look them all in the eye and let the bloodied corpse speak for itself.
22
DECLAN
“You don’t need to hover over me. And you can wipe that guilty look off your face. I’m fine and your doctor is just being dramatic,” Zahra groans as I replace the ice pack on her forehead with a new one.
“My doctor said you have a concussion and need lots of rest for your symptoms to go away.”
“I don’t have a concussion, I’m completely fine,” she huffs, standing up from the coach and taking a few wobbly steps forward. “See. Fine. You can take me home now.”
“I’m sorry, love, but I’m going to have to take the word of my doctor. You know, the one who went through years of extensive training, over a stubborn mob boss who will never admit to being hurt.” I gently guide her back onto the couch, refusing to acknowledge the fact that the term of endearment had rolled so easily off my tongue.
She looks up at me and blinks. “Wow. I really must be concussed, because I swear you just called me ‘love’.”
“Hmm, you must have misheardme.” I adjust the pillow behind Zahra so it props her up more, before taking a seat next to her.
“You sure? Because I don’t think concussions mess with your hearing.”
“They can actually. It’s a fairly common side effect.” Blame it on her concussion, nice one, Declan.
“I can’t say I believe you but I’m willing to ignore it, so long as you stop looking at me like you’re the reason I have this giant lump on the back of my head.” Zahra winces as she moves the ice pack to the back of her skull.
