Page 124 of Trigger Happy Ending

I muster all I have left (which isn’t much) and snap my head back (probably not smart considering I’m already concussed), using the element of surprise to catch him off guard, giving Soren the window he needs (you’re welcome, baby).

My head snaps to his abdomen, swiftly followed by a single shot. Soren shoots him right between his eyes. His body drops to the floor in a heap behind me. Before I can breathe, cry, laugh, rejoice (or, let’s be honest, bleed out and die), Soren rushes to me, his chest heaving as he drops to his knees, removing the ropes from my ankles and slicing the zip ties from wrists, freeing me from the chair.

I try to move, but I can’t.

My body screams and throbs and aches, my vision swims and blurs; every part of me feels broken.

Shit, I think I really am dying.

I can feel it, I realize.

Death. It’s warm and heavy and more comforting than I imagined it would be … wait. That’s not death, that’s Soren. It’s his hands that are warm and heavy, lifting me, holding me close to his chest.

“Raine.”

I press my forehead to his shoulder, blood dripping from my lashes. I feel his fingers tighten in my hair, his other hand pressing into my back.

I inhale his scent. He smells like death.

And it’s the sweetest scent of all, because it’s not mine. It’s theirs.

“I had it handled,” I stutter, shuddering.

He lets out a sharp, bitter sound, pressing his lips against my temple which is a much better feeling than a gun. “Shut the fuck up, Raine.”

And for once, I do.

Chapter 51

Soren

I’ve never moved this fast. Not even when I was escaping a hail of gunfire in an active warzone. I sprint towards Carson’s car, where he and one of his personal guards wait with the back door already open. I carry a barely conscious Raine across the dusty makeshift road, and scream at them to take us to a hospital.

“No,” Carson says to his security. “Take her to John’s. I’ve already messaged him.”

“Who the fuck is John?” I bark.

“Someone that can help her.” Carson picks up on my hesitation to trust him, and follows with, “You want heat from the cops? Be my guest. Have fun explaining how your girlfriend ended up in this state, and then—providing you manage to do the impossible and give an explanation that doesn’t warrant taking you in for questioning—enjoy trying to talk your way out of why you’re covered in blood that’s not your own. Trust me, you take her to an ER in this state? You’re suspect number one. They’re going to ask questions, and something tells me you want this shit to stay off the radar. Am I right?”

I pause for a few moments before I exhale and nod. He’s right.

I did just commit half a dozen murders.

My eyes drag down to Raine’s battered body as I slide us into the SUV. Her head rests in my lap, body sprawled across the back seat. Her body is a patchwork of bruises, cuts, and welts. Her eyes are swollen shut, her skin is slick with blood, her breathing shallow, uneven. They beat the shit out of her.

My heart thrashes wildly in my chest as I process what just occurred.

She nearly died in a decrepit warehouse by the river. Now, the bodies of half a dozen men lay decaying inside.

To my relief, the SUV comes to a screeching halt outside a nondescript building, not far from where we just were. I don’t think Raine could last if the drive was any longer. She’s in a really bad way.

An older man with thinning hair and glasses, who I presume is John, opens the door wide. “The room is nearly ready. Take her into the bathroom in the meantime.”

Carson nods, beckoning me to follow. I scan the place quickly; I don’t have time to fully scope it out, but it’s a safehouse of some sort, similar to what the Agency uses. I’m also not too happy about trusting this John guy just because Carson says to, but what choice do I have? My back’s up against the wall, and my girl’s life is literally on the line.

I rush Raine into the bathroom, setting her down gently on the floor, her back up against the edge of the tub. Her face flinches at the movement of being sat up. She groans softly.

“Hey,” I murmur, grabbing the first aid kit Carson’s security tossed onto the floor when we came in. “I’ve got you.”