I’ll lay my life down at Lex’s feet with no hesitation if it saves her soul. Every fiber of my being wants to save her, but that’s of no importance.
All that matters is thatsomeonegets to her.
Anyone.
Briny sea air floods my lungs like poison, its vigorous fingers piercing through my ribs and chest like it's reaching out for any sign that Kate’s still alive.
The soft hum of music from the carousel glides through the pounding of blood in my ringing ears. I pump my legs faster, my suit clinging to my sweaty frame. Rainbow lights start to spill across the concrete, my eyes drawn to a figure in the distance, sprinting toward me. For a brief second, through the panic and blurry vision, it feels like I’m somehow peering through a mirror, watching myself run to her.
But it's not me.
And I’m too far to recognize who it is, but the uniform tells me it's one of my men.
The figure stops in the center of the walkway, their arms lifting to raise the gun. They hesitate momentarily, but their aim is steady.
Fuck, why are they hesitating?
The blast cracks through the air. The shot wasn’t aimed at me, but for some reason, it feels like it is.
Because Kate is a part of me now in ways I’ll never comprehend, and I know damn well that shot was aimed at her, but meant for the man trying to steal what’s mine.
Eerie silence consumes the park, but it can’t drown out the cacophony of sounds as my body threatens to break.
“Kate,” I bellow.
The face comes into focus now. Vincent doesn’t waste a second to pay me any mind as he takes off running toward the twirling carousel. He must have had to wait to get a shot. I didn’t think I was capable of running any faster, but I prove myself wrong.
For an older man, Vincent launches himself onto the rotating platform with the fucking agility of a ninja. I’m right behind him. The metallic stench of the bloodbath is overpowering now. The colorful lights are damn near blinding me as I follow him, frantically weaving through the benches and animals.
My world shakes when my eyes land on the bloody pile of entangled limbs on the floor. But it's the squirming of the body underneath in a pool of pink fabric tainted with scarlet that has Vincent and me lunging for the mass of carnage on top of Kate. Vincent manages to get Alexander rolled over onto the ground, his eyes now a void while his blood continues to pool below him.
A dead look I should be savoring.
But my focus is entirely transfixed on the frantic green ones, rimmed with red, darting around the space. They have me sinking to my knees. It takes a moment, but Kate releases a sob that should have rage injecting into my veins, yet it's a sign of life that has my fingertips gently reaching for her.
One stroke of my thumb against her reddened cheeks, flushed from crying, has the crimson splatter streaking across her face. I pray to God it isn’t hers.
Her eyes magnetize to mine, the recognition appearing through the shock. My name is a breath. “Preston?”
Kate scrambles, her arms weaving around my neck as I timidly pull her flush against my large frame and rest against the center of the ride—the reflective wall at my back.
“I’m right here, baby,” I croon, cupping her sweaty face with my hand.
Vincent’s commanding tone adds to the strain in my muscles, his voice ordering someone on the phone to get here immediately. It must be Imogen on the other end.
A rapid breath escapes her lungs in a whoosh, my gaze dropping to the pool of dark blood soaking her dress near her abdomen. Dropping my hand from her face, I scan her body desperately with frantic fingers.
Kate shakes her head, her voice hoarse from the purple and pink bruises already painting her neck. “That blood isn’t mine,” she tries to assure me.
My voice struggles to emerge through the fear clogging my throat. “Are you sure?” I rush out, still touching her as she rests against my chest while I search for proof.
The crimson trailing down her calf in stripes has me opening the slit in her dress. In the leg opposite her sheath, the torn muscle in her thigh spills fresh, bright-red blood.
Acid sears my throat. “Shit,” I hiss. My shaky hands hover above the wound. She’s caked in blood from head to toe.
Hers.
His.
