Bradley’s here.
He’s here with me and that’s all that matters.
Trying to speak burns and results in a rough, harsh coughing fit that stops Bradley’s next swing. He looks up at me, his eyes completely dark and his face twisted in rage, but that rage melts away in a blink when we lock eyes.
Hot tears sting behind my eyes and I gasp. Suddenly, Bradley’s on his feet and he sweeps toward me. The last glimpse I get of Harris is Valentina standing over him and nudging his trembling, choking form with the heel of her shoe because Bradley suddenly sweeps me up into his arms and nothing else matters.
“Are you okay?” Worry thickly laces his tone, and he balances me in one arm as if I weigh nothing and cups my beaten face with his hand. “Oh, God.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I-I had the gun b-but I couldn’t do it! I couldn’t.” Every word is a rasp and I dissolve into a coughing fit.
Bradley cuddles me to his chest and hushes me, a deeply soothing sound that rumbles through his chest. “Don’t,” he says as he begins to walk. “Don’t ever apologize for not taking a life.”
I glimpse Cassian running past in the hallway, and suddenly, we’re outside with a cool breeze, tugging at my clothes and stinging my cheeks.
“I should have been able to, I should have, I should have!” Tears flood down my cheeks, stinging the fresh bruises and split skin from the force of Harris’s blows, and once I start, I can’t stop. The pain of everything surges up like a wave, of everything Harris put me through to struggling with Peter, the loss of him, the fear of everything else. It rises and chokes me.
Bradley makes it to a waiting car and sits half-inside, half-outside and holds me tightly. Through every rough gasp, every choke, every sob and snotty gasp, he doesn’t let me go. Both arms embrace me, and he continuously kisses the top of my head without a hint or word of complaint.
I don’t know how long I sit in his lap and cry. When I start to calm, he takes tissues from somewhere and gently dries my tears while very carefully dabbing around cuts and split skin, especially at my brow.
“I should have been able to kill him,” I choke out thickly while my chest spasms and forces a deep breath. “I shot you. I had more cause to shoot him.”
“It’s different,” Bradley says softly. “Shooting me was to save someone. Killing for revenge is very different.”
“He caused s-so much shit and I…” I shake my head. It didn’t matter that the safety was on. I still should have pulled the trigger or hit him over the head or done something to make him suffer.
“Zira, it’s over,” Bradley murmurs. “You don’t need to beat yourself up. We have him and he will suffer, I promise you that. I’m so proud of you.”
Very delicately, he cups my face and tilts my head up until we’re looking into each other’s eyes.
“Proud?” I ask weakly.
“Yes. You held your own. I’m a little pissed you went in there without warning and I was scared for you, but thanks to your stalling, we found you. The way sound carries in there was confusing so we thought you were upstairs for a while.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”
“No.” I press my hands to his chest and blink, my lashes damp against my cheek. “I-I’m glad you came. I’m so glad.” I sag forward, and he embraces me once more.
Is it really over?
No more Harris? No more Mafia? No more people eager for my head? Presumably, they will interrogate Harris, and like the cockroach he is, he’ll give up the location of the rest of the diamonds to save himself.
But then what? I can’t ask Bradley to kill him as much as I hope he will die. Will they arrest him and send him to prison?
It’s all a muddle.
“Need to get you looked at,” Bradley says. “I’ll call ahead for the medics. Are you able to breathe okay?”
I nod slowly and lift my head. “Why… Why did you do this?”
His brows knit together. “Do what?”
“Why did you focus so hard on helping me? Surely… surely, all of this could have been cleared up much faster if you just handed me over in the beginning. Why did you care about all of this so much? Why did you really help me or even agree to let me come here?”
Bradley’s expression softens somewhat and his eyes dart between both of mine and when he speaks, his voice is so soft that it’s like a whisper directly to my soul. “Do you really not know?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say weakly. “I don’t.” But as those words leave me, all Bradley does is kiss my forehead, and I’m struck with a sudden spark in my aching chest, blooming from the chaos of pain left behind.
Is there a chance he feels for me what I feel for him?
