Page 87 of The Marriage Auction 2: Part 4

Angus flipped the table, grabbed me by the ankle and pulled me toward him. I fell to the ground amongst the broken dishes and glassware. His bulky frame moved so fast, within a second, he’d straddled me and pinned me to the ground behind the table as gunshots blasted everywhere.

“You little cunt! You planned this.” He pointed the gun at my face, pressing the nozzle straight to my forehead, digging the metal into my skull. “If she dies, I’ll kill every single person you’ve ever known!” He swore, spit spattering my face.

“You did this! You and your revenge! You only have yourself to blame!” I screeched through my teeth, struggling against his hold. He battled me as I reached up to his shoulder where blood seeped out and pushed my thumb into the wound as hard as I could.

He roared in pain, his gun hand shaking. I pressed with all my might and used every ounce of strength within my body to roll him off of me, while screaming for help. His gun went off several times, blasting into the wall behind us.

Suddenly the table was shoved away, and standing there amongst all chaos was my savior. A halo of light shining behind his dark features.

Ángel de la Muerte.

The Angel of Death.

He pointed a massive, shiny silver gun straight at Angus. A menacing, dare I say handsome, smile on his face.

“Go back to hell, demon,” he muttered and then fired.

The bullet went straight into Angus’ forehead, right between his eyes.

I heard Bianca shriek like a wounded animal, fighting against Christophe’s hold. Someone had divested her of her dueling guns and was currently zip tying her hands together.

I crab walked backward until I hit the wall.

Angel reached out his hand. Bullets were flying but not a single one came near him. It was a miracle.

I took his hand as though it were my lifeline, and he hauled me up and against his chest. He lifted me off my feet and ran toward the kitchen, bullets still flying.

“No! Christophe!” I roared, struggling against Angel’s vise grip.

He got me to the kitchen and set me down on one of the metal counters.

“Guard her!” he snapped and then disappeared like a puff of smoke.

Mamácame over to me, gun in her hand. She put her free hand on my knee.

“You are safe,” she said in heavily accented English while patting my leg.

My entire body trembled as gunshots blasted nonstop in the other room.

Someone pushed through the double doors and before I could even turn my head to see who it was,Mamáhad already fired two shots, dropping the man like a hot rock.

“Safe,” she patted my knee again and kept her guard. “¿Hambrienta?”she asked.

“I don’t know that word?”

“Hungry?” she asked in English.

What in the world? She wants me to eat right now? The woman was nuts. Then again, she was the mother of a veryviolent mafia group. I didn’t imagine much affected her. I shook my head numbly.

Another person raced in from a back door yelling, “Mamá!”

Mamáspun around just as a second person, this one huge, white, and armed with a big gun barreled through the door after the first person.

Mamáraised her gun like an expert marksman and shot right past one of her own son’s heads and put two slugs into the attacker. He dropped right there. She pulled a gun from a kitchen drawer that had several more guns in it, boxes of ammo…and was that a grenade rolling around in the drawer like an old battery in a junk drawer? She tossed one of the guns to her son.

“¡Gracias Mamá!” he said, kissed her cheek, checked the weapon making a bunch of clicking sounds and then headed for the double doors, gun raised. I realized in my frightened haze that I recognized the man as Javier.

“Christophe! Please get him, Javier!” I begged.

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