"Drop your weapons," one says.
Alexei complies immediately, his pistol clattering to the pavement. I start to do the same, but one of the men steps forward, his gun trained directly on my center mass.
On the baby.
"The Quinn girl," he says, and there's something almost pleased in his voice. "Bonus for bringing her in alive."
Bringing me in? To who?
But before anyone can answer, before I can process what that means, the man aims his weapon at my head instead of my stomach.
"On second thought," he says, "dead is easier to transport."
His finger tightens on the trigger, and time slows.
I see my future about to end before it ever really got started.
All because I was too stubborn to stay within the safety of Dante’s compound. My eyes slide over to Alexei. I silently apologize for getting him killed.
25
DANTE
Iknew something was wrong the moment Alexei's tracker went offline.
One second, the GPS signal showed them moving along the planned route to the safe house. The next, static. Complete radio silence in an area that should have perfect coverage.
I tried calling, but of course, it went straight to voicemail. He would never bounce my call especially knowing the way I felt about Hannah.
I was in the SUV and speeding toward their last known location before my security team could finish their status report. Every instinct I've honed over decades in this life screamed that Hannah was in danger, and instinct has kept me alive when logic would have gotten me killed.
The underpass comes into view, and my blood turns to ice.
Two SUVs crashed and smoking, bodies on the ground, and in the center of it all—Hannah. There’s a gun still clutched in her white-knuckled grip. Alexei is beside her, blood streaming down his face, positioning himself between her and the six armed men surrounding them.
I slam on the brakes hard enough to leave rubber on the pavement, the SUV screeching to a halt at an angle that gives me cover while keeping Hannah in my line of sight. The driver's door is open before the vehicle fully stops.
The man closest to Hannah has his weapon trained on her head.
I saw red. I didn’t hesitate.
I raise my gun and fire before he can pull the trigger.
The shot takes him in the shoulder, spinning him around. Not a kill shot—I need at least one of these bastards alive to tell me who sent them—but enough to drop him and get Hannah out of immediate danger.
The remaining attackers scatter, diving for cover, returning fire. Bullets spark off the concrete around me, but I'm already moving, using the crashed vehicles as cover as I close the distance between me and Hannah with single-minded focus.
I will take a hundred bullets for her.
"Dante!" Alexei's shout carries over the gunfire. He's got Hannah behind him now, using his body as a shield, but he's swaying on his feet. Wounded. Maybe badly.
I drop two more attackers with precision shots—one to the chest, one to the head—years of training and muscle memory taking over.
No hesitation, no remorse. These men tried to kill what's mine.
The third attacker tries to use one of the crashed SUVs as cover, but he's chosen poorly. I come around the side and catch him trying to reload, his hands shaking with adrenaline. One punch to his jaw. He crumples like a puppet with cut strings.
The last man standing—the one I shot first—is on his knees, clutching his shoulder, his weapon on the ground several feet away. I kick it further away and signal to my security team, who've finally caught up and are securing the perimeter.
