Page 26 of Enemy of the Heart

He snorts. “Clearly.”

I shrug, although he can’t see the gesture. I avoid the growing crimson pool as I move around the man. Following my gut, I allow my instincts to guide me, and I practically jog to the mouth of the cell block where I was kept.

Two steps into the cell block, I find a stark-naked Kazi leaning against the back wall of the first cell. His eyes are closed, but I’m certain he senses my presence.

“I’ll free you,” I whisper. But Sean comes first. Kazi doesn’t react.

As I take in the sight of a blessedly silent Carlos, I snort and my lips curl. He snarls back. I respond by winking and gesturing at him with my middle finger in the air.

When I reach the next to last cell, I find a man curled on his side, his back to me. Deep, long gashes adorn various parts of his otherwise dark, flawless skin, oozing a bright shade of vermillion. The wounds appear fresh.

“Change of plans,” I murmur to Viktor and Sasha. “We’re freeing three rather than two.”

“You have too many pets, Louhi,” Viktor admonishes, but there’s no bite. Plus, I’d like to see him try to tell me no.

In Finnish mythology, Louhi, goddess of death and the queen of witches, collects animals as though they’re coins and keeps them as pets. I’m unsurprised that Viktor made that reference, considering he appreciates folklore as much as I do.

My face falls the moment I step before the eighth cell. Horror, rancor, and undiluted rage beat at the enclosure within my chest. My stomach clenches, and I swallow down the bile climbing up my esophagus.

I shake myself from the shock of seeing the small, wooden box in the middle of the cell. I aim my Wildey at the padlock. Next, I slam the butt of my gun into the retinal scanner. The tiny screen flashes a rainbow of colors before glitching, then turning black.

Just as I’m about to enter Sean’s cell, four soldiers race down the hallway, firing at me. This is growing tiresome. They’re terrible shots; however, and I take advantage, pulling the trigger four times, watching their bodies crumple to the floor.

I need to make this fast.

Striding into the space that was mine only a week ago, I approach the box, my pulse pounding in my ears like a heavy bass. Unseeing eyes the color of a coming storm stare back at me through a tiny opening.

“Sean,” I state softly. When he doesn’t reply, his stony-hued irises glazed, I fire a shot at the lock on the side. The wood splinters, and I don’t hesitate in flinging open the lid.

I immediately scan his body, taking stock of his various injuries. Angry-looking cuts, purplish-black bruises, and gnarly burns are scattered across his torso. But the most horrific wound appears to be the one in his mind.

He doesn’t climb from the box, doesn’t so much as twitch a muscle as I crouch beside him. Lifting my hand, I place my palm over his heart, relishing the steady beat of his life. I press harder, as though I’m attempting to synch our heartbeats. When that doesn’t get through to him, I tap his face gently before I grip tightly, my fingernails digging into the hollows of his cheeks.

“Look at me,” I demand, and slowly—too fucking slowly—he does. “You are Sean Diggory, and you will not break like this. I will be the only one to break you, and when I do, I promise to put you back together.”

His eyelids shutter briefly, and I hold my breath. When he does it again, my heart stutters. Come back to me.

“Lou,” he croaks, as though tasting my name for the first time after weeks of wandering a dry desert. Repeating the words he said to me when I was on the brink of shattering seems to have pierced his despondent haze. Thank fuck.

“Yeah, Sean, it’s me.” I smile. “Can you stand?”

He blinks a couple more times as though attempting to clear the mirage, but I’m not an illusion. I’m here, and I’m not leaving without him.

At a snail’s pace, he lifts his arms, and I grab his hand, assisting him as he stretches to his full height, his balance shaky. He winces, and my attention returns to the box that was far too small for a man of his stature. He must be in a tremendous amount of pain after, what I’m guessing is, prolonged exposure in a stressed position. It even looks like a coffin. He must’ve felt as though he was being buried…alive.

I clench my teeth. I never should’ve allowed myself to be dragged onto that plane without him.

Shouts from elsewhere in the prison echo through the concrete jungle, and I reach behind my back to hand him the Glock. Just as I grip the gun, his palms are at my waist when he shoves me firmly against the wall.

Cool concrete penetrates my long-sleeved top as his lips collide with mine, and I shiver. Kissing Sean reminds me of stepping onto Finnish soil as a familiar tranquility washes over me, warming my skin and calming my racing pulse.

His grasp snakes around me, and I follow suit. Flinging both of my arms around him, a weapon in each hand, our tongues tangle, feasting on one another like a decadent twelve-course meal. I wish we had more time for this, but—

“We can hear you locking lips,” Viktor grumbles in my ear.

Fucking cockblock. Who says shit like locking lips anymore, anyway?

I don’t answer Vik’s unnecessary commentary as I reluctantly pry my lips from Sean’s. He drops his forehead to mine, his palm caressing my cheek, making my face match the blissful relief coursing through me.