Through the haze of dust and gunsmoke, I see a familiar silhouette step through the hole in the wall. My heart stops.
D.
He towers over us, looking like a fucking Viking warlord. His eyes, cold as Arctic ice, lock onto me first, then shift to Alex. The look on his face is enough to freeze hell itself.
“Well, well,” Elena sneers, blood bubbling from her nose. “Look who decided to join the party.”
But there’s an edge of uncertainty in her voice now. She knows she’s fucked.
I scramble toward Alex, my hands shaking as I reach for the cloth in his mouth. “It’s okay, baby,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady as I pull the gag free. “Momma’s here.”
“Momma!” Alex wails, his little arms reaching for me. I pull him close, breathing in his scent, feeling his tiny heart hammering against my chest.
“Shh, shh,” I whisper, running my hand over his hair. “It’s okay. You’re safe now.” My eyes are locked on D, silently pleading with him to get Alex out of here.
I’m so focused on calming Alex, on the warmth of his little body against mine, that I don’t notice Elena moving. Don’t hear her stumbling footsteps as she circles behind us.
It’s not until I feel something cold and hard press against my temple that I realize how badly I’ve fucked up. Shit. Where the fuck did she get a gun?
D takes a step forward, and the room crackles with tension. His men flood in behind him, guns drawn, ready for war.
“Let. Them. Go.” D’s voice is low, dangerous. It sends a shiver down my spine.
Elena’s grip on me tightens, her finger twitching on the trigger. “Or what?” she hisses. “You’ll kill me? Go ahead. But I promise you, I’ll take your bitch with me.”
D’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world falls away. I see rage there, yes. But something else, too. Something that looks an awful lot like fear.
“Wren,” he says softly, and my name on his lips is like a prayer and a curse all at once.
I close my eyes, steeling myself. This ends now. One way or another.
“D,” I whisper, my voice steady despite the gun at my head. “Get our son out of here.”
And then I move.
73
Dimitri
Ourson?
The words echo in my head.
Our.
Fucking.
Son.
My brain’s still processing when Wren moves. Fast. Desperate.
“Take him!” she yells, her voice cracking.
The kid’s airborne. Heading my way.Blyat.
My arms flash out faster than lightning. Pure instinct. I snatch the squirming, snot-covered bundle of limbs out of the air just in time.
Oof! The kid collides into my chest with a thud that knocks the air right out of my lungs. My arms tighten around him instinctively. He sobs uncontrollably, his tiny body heaving in my arms.
