Page 49 of Under His Protection

“Maybe not,” I whisper, my gaze never leaving his. “But I’m willing to die trying.”

He straightens, his gaze shifting to his men. “Put her back in the shipping container. Tear the blade from by force if you have to,” he orders, his voice clipped with an icy edge. “Get this shipment moving. Make sure there is no way she can harm herself.”

"And if she does?" one of his men asks; a tall, bald brute.

"She won't," Cole says, his voice laced with a confidence that makes my stomach churn.

Shit. He has called my bluff.

"You think I'm just playing games, Ava?" Cole says, his voice dropping to a low growl, his eyes gleaming with a cold intensity. "I'm not interested in toys. I want control. I want to build an empire. And the Bournes—they're in my way. They took everything from me. They need to pay."

As the men move to obey, I catch Alexander’s eye. He is watching me, his gaze intense, a question burning in his depths.

It’s now or never, my hand tightening around the razor blade in my hand. I never meant to cut myself, and the blade is for something else entirely.

The men grab me, their hands rough, their grip bruising. I stumble, letting out a cry of pain, a carefully orchestrated act that draws their attention. As they pull me toward the shipping container, I see Alexander tense, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to be released.

I’m almost inside the shipping container. I can see the girls huddle together, their eyes wide, their bodies trembling. Emily, her gaze sharp and alert, stands near the front, her hand resting on the container wall, her knuckles white.

She’s ready.

I quickly slip her the razor blade. The men shove me inside, and I fall against the rough floor, the impact jarring my bones. Before they can shut the door, I shout, “Now!”

A chorus of screams erupted from the shipping container. The girls, fueled by a surge of adrenaline and a desperate hope for freedom, lunged at the men. They kicked, scratched, and bit, their fury a wild, primal force unleashed.

Cole needs the cargo intact. He doesn’t want to hurt the girls.

He won’t order the men to shoot them. I repeat this mantra to myself as I claw at the nearest guard; I can feel his skin rip beneath my nails and the army of his blood on my hands.

Emily’s movements are surprisingly swift and precise. She uses the razor blade I just gave her to slash at the ropes binding the container door so it won’t shut close again. The thick fibers part with a satisfying snap.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alexander throwing his weight against the two men holding him. He headbutts one, sending him staggering back with a grunt, then slams his knee into the other’s groin.

The man doubles over, gasping for air. With a roar of fury, Alexander breaks free, diving towards the gun that has flown from the hand of one of the men.

I scramble to my feet, my pulse rising, my gaze locked on Cole. He stands frozen for a moment, his face a mask as he watches his carefully constructed plan crumbles around him.

The girls spill out of the container, a wave of fury and fire. Tanya, her dark braids whip around her face, landing a vicious kick to a man’s shin. Anya is clawing at another man’s face, leaving bloody streaks across his cheek.

Emily’s eyes, blazing with a cold fire, target the man with the tattooed skull. She lunges at him, her fingers digging into his face, her nails finding his eye. He howls in pain, stumbling back, his hand flying to his face, blood seeping between his fingers.

I pushed through the chaos. My eyes laser-fixed on Cole. He raises the golden gun, his finger tightening on the trigger. I lunge at him, my shoulder connecting with his chest, but he is stronger than I anticipated. He doesn’t fall; he staggers back, his eyes widening.

“You little bitch!” he snarls, shoving me away. I crash against one of the shipping containers, the impact knocking the air from my lungs.

Cole aims the gun at Alexander, who’s now wielding a crowbar, fighting off two of Cole’s goons. It’s like a scene from a bad action movie, but this is real.

I’m on my feet before Cole can pull the trigger. I launch myself at him, a desperate, uncalculated move. My arms lock around his waist, and we crash to the floor, the gun skittering across the concrete like a lost toy.

“Get her off me!” Cole roars, struggling against my grip.

One of his men approaches me, his fist cocked, but Alexander intercepts him. He slams the crowbar into the guy’s side, a sickening thud echoing through the warehouse. The guy crumples to the floor, a whimper escaping his lips.

Cole, still tangled with me, reaches for the gun. His fingers stretch, grasping. I scramble, my hand closing around the cold metal a split second before his. I got the golden gun.

I've never used a gun. The weight of it feels strange, unfamiliar in my hand. But it also feels powerful, somehow. I've seen Alexander with his gun countless times, watched him clean it, and heard him talk about its intricacies. I know it's dangerous, but I also know its potential. A sudden surge of fear and confidence washes over me. I'm not sure where this newfound strength is coming from, but I'm not going to let him take it away from me.

"It's over Cole," I say, my voice shaking, my hands trembling as I slowly back away from him, his own golden gun pointed straight at him.

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