Page 105 of The Masked King

He alternates between Titanic and my impending death as if this is one of those nonsense rhymes little kids learn from centuries ago that have somehow lost their meaning along the way. Like ‘Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary’, lining up her pretty maids in a row ready for execution.

I stare at the utility room door because the alternative is imagining my face hitting the stone steps leading down to the basement.

I know Enzo will come for me.

Part of me wants to wrap the promise of his rescue around me and wait for the inevitable. But the other part of me, the rational part that got me through police academy, doesn’t share Enzo’s unfailing confidence in his ability to defeat the asshole with the rope fastened around his waist. Not because I believe Malevsky is stronger or has superior weapons. But because he has no fear of death.

Sounds of a scuffle outside the room reach us, so when the door opens shortly after, my heart is already beating along to Enzo’s rhythm before he appears in the doorway.

His gaze takes in the open trapdoor, the rope around my neck, the blood-soaked handkerchief around my arm, before he locks eyes with me. He doesn’t speak. I know why he is here, and the ache in my throat transcends anything else I’m feeling right now.

I can’t let him die for me.

I open my mouth to speak, but he silences me with a widening of his eyes, so brief, I’d have missed it if I blinked. Nothing in this world could stop him from giving his life for me, and if I ever doubted his feelings, I was a complete fucking idiot.

Enzo closes the door behind him, leans against it, and faces Malevsky. He looks like shit, one half of his jacket is saturated with blood, his skin dull, eyes glassy. But his casual expression is so familiar, my core is yelling at me to run to him, to take my chances with the rope, to put my trust in the man who vowed to protect me for the rest of his life.

Maybe the rest of his life begins now.

“Is this how you treat all your employees?” he asks. “Or only your favorites?”

Malevsky doesn’t react. “What took you so long? I’m getting bored, and I tend to be a little impulsive when that happens.”

“Choosing my moment.” Enzo shrugs. “I like to make an entrance.”

“Why don’t you call in your brother and explain how your bad choices will affect his future?”

“Nah.” Enzo seems completely relaxed, leaning back against the door, but I’ve noted the white knuckles wrapped around the gun in his hand to stop it from shaking. “He learned to live with my bad choices when we were kids. It isn’t about to change now.”

“Pity.” Malevsky licks his lips, and I know time is running out. He wants this over and done with so he can get back to his casinos and his human auctions and the women who are paid to make him feel good. “I’d have liked to make his acquaintance before I crush his life in my fist.”

Enzo smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re mistaking him for the kind of men you surround yourself with. You know, the weaselly rodent type, built to look intimidating but without an ounce of integrity.”

Malevsky’s face darkens, eyebrows drawing together like a cartoon caricature of a villain. “You don’t understand the meaning of the word integrity.”

“And you don’t understand the meaning of the word love.”

Enzo pushes himself off the door, his movements so fluid I barely register what happens next. He shoots the rope above my head, snapping the twine with a sound that I feel inside my skull rather than hear as it loosens. At the same time, he flicks a blade at Malevsky with his left hand, but the Russian parries it with his own blade, which he then launches directly at Enzo’s head.

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

Enzo drops into a roll across the floor so quickly I can’t be sure if it’s deliberate or if he has collapsed from the trauma of his wounds.

I instinctively follow his lead and jump inside the hatch, where I can duck if I need to.

Mid-roll, Enzo fires another bullet into the Russian’s thigh, and he retaliates with a shot at Enzo’s chest. I cry out as it grazes Enzo’s arm instead, but he hardly seems to notice. He tosses a gun at me, and I catch it easily, training it on Malevsky while he’s focused on his moving target. The first bullet misses. The second bullet hits his chest, blood spurting from the hole in his jacket as his dark eyes turn my way.

“That was for Goss,” I manage, jaw clenched so tightly my teeth hurt. “This one is for Michael Douglas.”

My finger presses the trigger with a dull click that makes my heart plummet.

I watch in slow-motion as his top lip curls. I hear the gunshot as if muffled in the distance. I feel my legs give way, cover my head with my arms, and brace myself for the fall as my knees hit the top step. But not before I see Enzo back on his feet and lunging at Malevsky with the gleam of metal in his hand.

My elbow cracks as my body starts to roll. It feels a long way down when the bottom of the staircase is buried in darkness so dense it feels alive. But the slippery mold we were so careful to avoid during our first descent, might just be my savior.

I slide backward over the side of the steps and land on a pile of cartons that cushion my fall before toppling with me, creating a racket that echoes off the walls and concrete floor as they settle around me.

“Demi?” Enzo’s voice penetrates the ringing in my ears and the throbbing in my elbow.