“Jesus Christ,” Carl mutters.“He’s holding his own.”
“No.”My voice strangles.“He’s losing.”
They swarm him.
Blows land hard, driving the air from his lungs.His knees hit the ground, but he leaps back up, blood streaking his temple, one arm limp, dislocated or broken.
Still, he fights.
As he pivots, his foot hits something.Someone.One of the dead guards.His body jerks in recognition.He can’t see, but he knows.I can tell by the way he drops, fast and desperate, hands feeling for a weapon in the dark.
He finds it, pulling a pistol off the guard’s belt in one smooth motion.
When he raises the gun, it’s not toward his attackers, but to his own temple.
My heart stops.
“I’ll do it!”he bellows into the dark, his voice guttural and soaked in rage.“Swear to God, I’ll fucking do it!You want me alive?Tell that cunt Adrian Crowe he should’ve come himself!”
“Adrian Crowe?”Monty stiffens.“The tech billionaire?”
I’ve heard of him, nothing more.He floats through headlines often enough to be a household name, one associated with politicians, royalty, elite social access, all the celebrated infamy of the untouchable upper crust.
How the hell does he know Jag Rath?
On the screen, the attackers freeze.
Even in night vision, I feel the hesitation.None of them expected that.
Jag doesn’t shake or flinch.He holds the gun like it’s a promise.Like his life is worth more to them than to himself.
I can’t look away.
He’s bleeding out, one arm dangling uselessly, barely able to stand, and still, he’s the one in control.
For some reason, they need him breathing, and he knows it.
Until one of the men says, “We have Dove Rath.”
Fire scorches my lungs and chars my airway.
“I don’t believe you.”Jag wildly casts his gaze around in the dark, his body broken in half a dozen places.
The lights come on.
He flinches, blinking hard, swaying, and disoriented.Blood drips from his mouth as he squints at them.
One of the attackers steps forward, holding a phone.Jag looks at the screen, and his face crumples.
I can’t see what it shows, but I can guess.
He falls to his knees, drops the gun, and his agonized roar rips through the audio feed, savage and raw.
I feel his pain to the depths of my soul.
“Don’t you hurt her!”He doubles over at the waist and releases an agonizing, bone-chilling sound.“Don’t fucking touch her!”
Heat seethes through my throat and into my eyes.I blink rapidly, forcing it down.But the pressure bites back, burning, swelling, overwhelming.My fists clench so hard my knuckles crack as I try to keep the tears from spilling over.
