I twist my wrists to grip the straining chains, gritting my teeth and I surge forward again and again, throwing all my strength and determination into breaking free. The metal groans but holds fast. Pain spikes, sharp and electrifying, but it’s secondary to the white-hot fury consuming me.
“There he is!” Kenji crows, and I barely hear his laughter, slow, dark, and venomous. Then he leans close so his lips brushagainst Evi’s ear. “Such devotion… it’s almost cute. But sweet little Sandro here… he’s trapped. That’s what makes this fun.”
Evi sobs quietly, fear racking her body, but she lifts her quivering chin, keeping her eyes fixed on me. I see her trust in me, and it fuels me, every ounce of rage burning hotter.
I take a deep breath, coiling every muscle, every tendon, every shred of strength left in my battered body.
Then I explode.
Chains groan and pop against the rock. My feet dig into the stone, arms straining. Every muscle ignites, pain exploding across my shoulders, back, and arms. Metal bites my wrists, but it’s nothing compared to the fire in my chest. My mind is singular.Protect Evi. Protect our child.
Kenji’s eyes widen slightly, the dark amusement flickering with a hint of surprise—then fear as I rip the chains out of the wall, dust billowing around me.
And my body is raw, trembling, unstoppable as I lunge forward.
38
EVI
The heart-stopping fear of a moment before vanishes as I watch in stunned disbelief as Sandro literally rips the thick chains restraining him from the wall. The crazed look of murder in his eyes is enough to steal my voice. But he doesn’t need me to speak as he lunges, headlong, toward me, making Kenji take a step back.
I can breathe again as the tip of his blade vanishes from my navel so he can wield it defensively, and he quickly retreats behind his two guards—one with the cattle prod, the other with a rifle—all semblance of arrogant mockery gone.
It’s all I can do to stay on my feet as chaos erupts around me, the cattle-prod guard charging forward to use the length of his weapon to hold Sandro at bay while the other guard unslings his rifle from his back.
But the electric rod might as well be a twig for all the attention Sandro gives it. Whipping his arm up and around, he wields the very chains that bound him like a weapon. The heavy, metallic anchor slings forward, missing me by a large margin, despite therelatively small space. A second later, it finds the side of the first guard’s head with a sickening crunch.
The man drops like a rock, stone dead in an instant.
The second guard is clearly rattled as he struggles to load a round into the chamber of his rifle. Sandro smirks, his eyes flicking down to watch the futile battle for just a moment. Then he closes the space between them in two long strides, one hand jerking the muzzle toward the ceiling as he clamps his other hand around the man’s throat—and lifts him off his feet.
I have no idea where this strength came from, when a few short hours ago, he was too weak to sit up straight. But I watch with a mixture of awe and horror as he crushes the man’s windpipe with one hand, then slams him down onto the cold, hard floor with such force that I hear his neck break.
It’s terrifying to watch, and yet, I can’t look away.
And my heart flutters, my neck craning to keep Sandro in my sights as he slowly stalks toward Kenji. He moves like a lion on the prowl, ready to close in on his prey.
And Kenji must know it. Because, while he’s still holding his knife as if it has a prayer of protecting him, his face is white with fear, his one dark eye wild with panic. He shifts, as if to turn and run, but there’s no time.
Sandro is upon him in an instant, one hand snatching Kenji’s wrist with inhuman speed, then wrenching it back until Kenji screams. It’s nothing for Sandro to take the knife from him now, and I see why as he shifts his grip to Kenji’s hand, exposing his crushed, useless wrist.
With one fluid motion, Sandro straightens Kenji’s arm—and brings the stolen blade down, severing his hand cleanly from his body. Kenji stares in wide-eyed shock as blood spurts from his truncated wrist.
Then a bloodcurdling howl rushes past his lips.
“My hand! You took my hand, youanimal!” he shrieks.
But Sandro’s not done.
Grabbing Kenji’s remaining hand, he slams it against the wall—and pins it there as he thrusts Kenji’s blade into the center of his palm.
Kenji thrashes, his howls of agony intensifying.
“I told you I would cut them off for touchingmy wife,” Sandro snarls, and while I’ve never found him more terrifying, heat blossoms in my chest at the way he says those two words.
Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. And I’m his.
Sandro’s hand wraps around Kenji’s throat, slamming him back against the wall, and Kenji’s mutilated stump of a wrist batters helplessly against Sandro’s bare shoulder and bruised ribs. Then his one good eye widens as he seems to realize just how screwed he really is.
