Fuck!
Alena’s window!
A large silhouette appears at the bottom of the grassy alley between the condos, making my thundering heart stop. But I’d know the looming shape, holding a gun, anywhere.
It’s Nash.
Fuck, he sensed that shit is sideways too.
Silently, I signal to the window. He signals his path up the back stairs. We’ll corner whoever the fuck broke in.
Securing my gun in its holster, I jump, grabbing thewindowsill, and pull myself up. I’m too fucking big and barely make it through before tumbling to the bedroom floor.
Greeted by a muffled scream, instinct draws my weapon. There’s no goddamn lights. The storm knocked the power out.
I blink, making my eyes adjust to the darkness, to the horror.
“Alena!”
Her wrists are tied to the bed, her mouth gagged, her pajama top ripped open.Goddamn, I’m killing someoneand pissing in a skull.
I aim my gun toward the open bedroom door, covering her as I hear a woman’s voice. It’s Vale’s, shouting, “Fore!”
What the fuck?
Vale’s a former junior golf pro but I guess she’s cracking a skull like a queen now.
Then, I hear a muffled struggle before a gunshot.
“Vale!” Alena screams into her gag. Terrified.
I’m concerned, too, but I don’t drop my weapon, protecting Alena until I hear Nash shout from the other room, “Seven. It’s clear. Is she okay?”
I turn back, seeing the storm of terror, rage, and relief in Alena’s eyes. They’re staring back at me. The real me, Lyov Kholodov, the seventh king with a gun in my hand, her body almost assaulted, and the fucked-up life I’ve been trying to protect her from.
And no.
My Babygirl is not okay.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ALENA
“Welcome back!”Paul, the head ranger, raises his hand. He’s in his usual spot, surveying the landscape of desks, water bottles, and radios in the ranger station.
“Thanks!” I raise mine in answer. Praying the guys don’t notice there’s no ring on my finger.
I gave it back to Nadine, Loch’s mom. Once she told me the harrowing story of how it was hers. How she and her boys escaped their evil father. How this man, called Maxim, died, saving them. It belongs with her.
Because from here on, I’ll save myself.
Still, it’s hard enough, falling in love with a man you work with. But it’s a cringeworthy, kill-me-now moment when the other guys at work realize he broke your heart.
Worse? When they realize the two weeks you took off for your wedding and honeymoon, and all the shifts they had to cover for you. That it didn’t happen.
If they only knew what happened.
I’m trying not to remember it all myself. Processing the trauma in bite-size chunks so I don’t choke on my tears.
