He changes his mind last minute. He moves his aim to the side of me, and I realize as he’s pulling the trigger who exactly he’s aiming for.
Rosalie.
Guns go off in quick succession and his body jerks with each bullet that enters his head and neck before he collapses to the floor.
I turn around and see Rosalie falling to the ground, grabbing at her arm.
“Rose!” Alessio hollers.
Both of us rush to her side, and she growls in response, or perhaps due to the pain.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she insists.
Me and Alessio pull her up from the floor. We all jump slightly as another explosion goes off in front of us, another barrel set on fire by the others.
Fire is beginning to engulf the building, and soon enough all the bodies of Eivor’s guards and the Dresvanni guards that didn’t make it, will be licked away by the flames.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Alessio calls out to the other guards and they rush ahead of us.
We have to run through a line of fire to get to the door and it nearly catches what’s left of my clothing on fire. The door frame is creaking and moaning as it struggles to keep itself up while the structural frame of the building is being demolished by the fire.
Rosalie struggles to walk, and I stop us for a moment, pull her into my arms and lift her up. Carrying her out of the building bridal style while Alessio staggers breathlessly behind me.
My wounds and dizzy head don’t matter in this moment. What matters is getting out of here.
“You don’t have to—” Rosalie tries to fight me, blood soaking into the leg of her pants.
“It’s still my job to protect you,” I tell her matter-of-factly.
“It’s not,” she huffs, her eyes starting to glass over.
“For a few more seconds, just fucking pretend it is,” I hiss at her.
One of the guards has opened the door to the nearest car and I quickly shove her into the backseat.
“Get her to a hospital, call the family doctor, whatever you need to do, just get her out of here,” I tell the nearest guard who looks the least wounded.
“Yes, Sir,” he nods and gets into the driver’s seat.
I turn to Alessio, but he’s already grabbing me by the hand.
“We need to get you out of here,” he says hurriedly. He pulls me toward his car and I only let go of his hand so I can get into the passenger seat.
“Are you injured?” I ask him, not bothering to put my seat belt on while he’s starting the car.
I look in the rearview mirror and see several cars heading down the road behind us. There must be two ways out of here because the car with Rosalie in it is speeding the opposite direction.
“You’re the one they tortured! I should be asking you,” he spits out as he revs the engine and speeds after the car with the other guards.
“I’m fine,” I insist. My blood is caked into almost every part of my body and I’m going to have two dozen more scars to tell the story, but I wasn’t shot and none of my bones are broken.
Which is surprising. One of the first things that captors usually do is break some of your fingers.
“They sucked at their job,” I tell him with a rough laugh. Even so, I tilt my head back against the seat. My vision is getting blurry.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Alessio reminds me. “And put your seatbelt on.”
I glance over at him. He’s not wearing his seatbelt either.
