Page 160 of Marrying the Savage

The impact rattles the frame.

Dmitri’s eyes bulge. He claws at my wrist.

“You severely overestimated yourself, boy,” I say.

His face reddens. He tries to speak.

I loosen my grip just enough.

“You will not come anywhere near my wife,” I say. “If she hears your voice again, I will take your tongue first and decide what to do with the rest of you after.”

He swallows against my hand. Hatred burns through the fear. “You think she wants you?” he rasps.

I slam him into the door again. He cries out.

Then something strikes the corridor door from the outside, and I turn my head a fraction.

Dmitri uses the only chance he has. He drives his thumb into the cut on my arm, right where the stitches sit beneath my sleeve. Pain flashes hot and immediate. My grip loosens for less than a second, but less than a second is all a coward needs when he has prepared an exit.

The rear door bursts open from outside. Two men I don’t recognize grab Dmitri under the arms and yank him through.

I fire once, catching one in the side, but they keep moving. A black car waits in the alley, engine running, back door open. Dmitri is shoved inside so fast his bad leg catches on the frame and he screams loud enough for the sound to bounce off the brick walls.

I fire at the tires. One round hits metal. Another hits glass.

The car jerks forward before I can get a clean angle, and one of the men fires back from the passenger window. The shot punches into the doorframe beside my shoulder, spraying splinters into my coat.

I step out into the alley and fire again.

Too late. The car swerves around a delivery van and disappears onto the street.

For a few seconds, I stand in the alley with my gun raised, listening to the engine fade and feeling blood warm against my sleeve where Dmitri’s thumb tore something open.

Then I turn back. The boy is still on the floor in the corridor, coughing but alive. One of my guards reaches him as I enter, and I gesture for him to be moved away from the door.

“Find the car,” I say.

The guard nods and runs.

By the time I return to the gallery, the room is under control. Dmitri’s men are down. One dead, two wounded, one restrained with his broken arm taped behind his back because Lev has a practical streak I appreciate. The staff are shaken but alive. Katya sits behind the counter with Marina beside her, both women pale.

My eyes move past her. Behind the fallen rack. Near the fitting rooms. Toward the side corridor.

No Sofia.

At first, my mind rejects the information. “She’s not here,” I say. “Where is she?”

No one answers fast enough.

Marina stands. “She was behind me.”

I look at her.

Her voice shakes. “I had her arm. When the gun went off, I pulled her behind the rack. Then Dmitri ran and everyone moved. I thought she was still there.”

“You thought.”

Her face goes white.