“Here I am,” an all too familiar purr sounds behind him, I spot the glint of a blade in my peripheral vision.
Aiden is no bodybuilder. His sculpted physique is more like that of a panther, sleek and deadly, but try telling the guy he has just lifted off the ground with one hand.
As I shift to my side, my eyes catch sight of the knife that the arsehole dropped. I grip the handle with my mutilated hand, summoning my strength to lift myself off the ground.
A scream pierces the air. A sudden surge of adrenaline courses through me as I witness the struggle unfold before my eyes. My vision clears just enough for me to see my fiancé grappling with my assailant, his fingers digging into his opponent’s eyes with a ferocity that draws blood, mirroring the crimson stream flowing from his own nose.
The bastard must have gotten a lucky hit in while I was pushing myself to my feet. It hurts to breathe.
Movement from my right catches my attention, a hooded figure runs towards us. “Aiden!”
I can’t move quick enough to warn him before he’s tackled to the ground.
It’s the other arsehole who tried to catch Ciara. He brandishes a knife from his waistband and thrusts it towards Aiden’s chest.
Aiden moves in time to stop the blade, to the detriment of his right hand. The blade drives through his palm, causing him to cry out. The guy raises the knife once more, targeting Aiden’s throat.
I don’t think, I just lunge forward, driving the knife in my hand into the attacker’s neck and back. He falls to the side, and I follow him to the floor.
The knife handle quickly becomes slick with blood. I continue to stab him again and again and again, until I cannot lift my arms.
Aiden is swift about crushing the windpipe of the dickhead that almost beat me to a bloody pulp before he takes the knife from me and tosses it aside.
“Bug,” he whispers, pulling me away from the lifeless body and into his arms.
Tears stream down my face; anger, relief, and exhaustion all swirl together in a confusing whirlwind of emotions. I take one last look at the bodies on the floor and scramble to be free of Aiden’s hold.
“Katie?”
“He stole my ring!” I yell, stumbling down the hallway to look for it.
“I’ll get you a new—”
“And a digit!” I almost fall on my arse as I spin, holding up my mutilated hand for him to see.
I want my finger back!
My legs give way and I collapse onto the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
Aiden rushes to my side, picking me up and cradling me in his arms. “Bug, it’s ok. It’s ok, baby. I’m here. You’re safe.”
“My pinky,” I weep, only to realise that I’m crying for the wrong finger. “I’m a freak,” I sniff, feeling a surge of self-pity wash over me.
Aiden smirks, taking my hand and placing it on his. I can see right through his palm. “Me too,” he says softly, kissing my forehead. “Come on, bug.” He pushes himself to his full height, carrying me bridle-style out of this dark place and into the light.
Moore is outside, with at least six garda cars surrounding the building.
“Aiden Quinn!” one of the gardaí shouts. “Put your handsbehind your—”
“Fuck off,” Aiden grunts, not missing a beat. He marches towards Detective Moore, kicking his car door when he doesn’t get the hint to open it for us. “Hospital, now.”
Moore quickly opens the door, allowing Aiden to slide into the backseat with me cradled in his arms.
“Raven!” Aiden roars as Moore slams the car door shut. “Get her finger!”
Pulling my head from his chest, I demand, “Ciara?”
“Is fine, bug. She’s fine,” Aiden reassures me, stroking my blood soaked hair as the car speeds off for the hospital.
