Page 286 of Sexting His Assistant

Luka catches me with one arm.

“I’m coming,” I say.

“Yes,” Luka says.

His voice is hard, immediate. No argument.

He keeps one hand around my waist as we move, but his eyes never stop scanning the warehouse. Even now, even with me shaking against him, he is looking for another threat.

Outside, the cold air hits my face.

The warehouse yard is full of movement. Cars. Men. Weapons. Someone shouting into a phone. Oleg’s men on the ground. Luka’s team clearing the edges.

They load Misha into the back of the SUV.

Sergei climbs in with him, keeping pressure on the wound.

I try to follow, but Luka stops me for one second.

“Look at me,” he says.

“I need to go with him.”

“You will,” he says. “Look at me first.”

I look at him. That’s when I really see him.

There is blood on his shirt. Some of it is not his. Some of it might be. His shoulder has reopened again. His face is hard, but his eyes are not.

His eyes are terrified. For me. For Misha.

For everything he almost lost.

My own fear breaks loose all at once.

I grab him.

He catches me against him so tightly it hurts, but I don’t care. I hold on to him like if I let go, the warehouse will take me back. My face presses into his chest. His arms close around me, one hand on the back of my head, careful of the injury even now.

“I thought I was too late,” Luka says against my hair. His voice is rough.

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I tried to text you.”

“I got it.”

I frown. “How?”

“It was just her name.”

“I was using speech to text. I said her name in shock—that must have triggered…”

He laughs in disbelief. “Fucking hell.”

“And you got everything from that one word?” I ask.

He looks at me solemnly. “Not everything, but enough, I knew something was wrong.”

My heart squeezes. “I was so scared,” I say.