A shot hits me in the shoulder—my bad shoulder—and my knees slam into the concrete. The MK-23 slips from my hand.
“Wyatt! No!”
Hope.
My lungs are screaming, but the impact short-circuited my diaphragm, and I can’t even draw a shallow breath. Arrens rises from behind the table, laughing, and Rex yanks Hope against him.
She’s alive. Bruised. Terrified. Disoriented. But alive.
Shots hit the wall behind them. Simon fires back, and Raelynn calls for backup. Something’s wrong with her voice. Is she hit?
Rolling onto my side, I manage to suck in a wheezing breath. Backup won’t do shit.
Hope’s eyes are glassy, and from the way her arms are pinned behind her, she’s restrained somehow. Rex grips the back of her neck, fingers and thumb digging into either side of her jaw just under her ears.
Her keening cry is pure agony, and I think she’s only standing because his grip is so strong.
“Say goodbye to your lover, Hope.” Simon aims a Glock 19 at my head.
This is it. I’m going to die. And so is she unless someone has a spare miracle lying around. “I love you, darlin’. I should have told you sooner. Every fucking minute of every day since we got to Seattle. Because that’s when I knew.”
Something shifts in Hope’s eyes. The haze of pain clears, and she throws herself backwards against Rex. The man yelps. It’s enough. One second of distraction. Simon’s aim wavers. His gaze turns to Hope and his only remaining general.
Something metallic hits the ground. My fingers close around the grip of the MK-23, and I fire.
Arrens doesn’t make a sound. The single shot to his head smokes, and his eyes roll around in their sockets. A stain darkens the front of his thousand-dollar pants. Before his bladder empties completely, he collapses.
“Hope!”
She catches her knee on the side of the table, and almost crashes down on top of me. Nothing is more important than holding her. Until she starts struggling in my arms.
“My hands…”
“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Sitting up, I pull the knife from its sheath and snap the zip tie. “Are you hurt? What did he—”
“You fucking bitch!” Rex braces one hand on the upended table. Blood glistens all around the zipper of his khakis, but he’s still got enough fight left in him—along with Simon’s gun—to end both of us.
I’m about to shove Hope behind me when Bettina pushes to her feet just out of Rex’s view. Something silvery glints in her hand.
I grin. “Might want to watch your mouth, shit-for-brains. You’re the one who’s fucked.”
Death comes for Rex wearing a torn, gray dress. Bettina clutches the blade Hope used to stab him in the family jewels, and there’s such fire in her eyes, I almost wish he could see it.
“Que te folle un pez!” she screams and drags the weapon across his carotid artery.
Rex drops the gun, his hands pressed to his throat, but he’s already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet. Hope buries her face in the crook of my neck, and I rub circles along her back until she whimpers quietly.
“You’re hurt.” Every protective bone in my body—which is all of them where she’s concerned—demands revenge, but the men who tortured her will never touch anyone ever again. “What did he do to you, darlin’? Tell me.”
With a final gurgle, Rex breathes his last. Bettina staggers back until she hits the wall and stares at his body like she’s waiting for his ghost to arise so she can kill it too.
“Yankee! What’s your status?” West asks over comms. But a hint of his voice carries down the concrete steps, so I know he’s close.
“We’re clear. Get someone down here to help Bettina. I’ve got Hope.” She’s trembling now, and bite down on one finger of my glove to pull it off. I need to feel her, to touch her. The skin of her cheek is hot under my palm.
Ghosting my thumb along her jaw, I watch her eyes. She flinches when I reach the pressure point that pig fucker used. “How bad?”
“I’ll…b-be okay. Just want to get out of here. Please?” Tears shimmer on her lashes. I’d give this woman the entire goddamn world if I could.
