Page 67 of Guarding her Gangster Girl

And as I race through the house—stopping briefly in my bedroom to grab the revolver I keep in there and to shove sneakers onto my bare feet—I feel the last vestiges of all those carefully-constructed personas crumbling down.

The glamorous ex-showgirl, the gold-digger, the Mob wife…that Brie falls away. In her place stands someone I met a long timeago, someone I’ve been running from since I was sixteen years old.

Someone harder. Colder.

Someone ready to dowhateverit takes to survive.

I hear the roaring sound of fire as I skid around a corner into the living room and stop dead in shock. Thick glass pebbles are scattered all over the floor from the bulletproof windows—no match for whatever weapon was used on them—and make a treacherous path for my bare feet. I pause for a heartbeat, my hand on the wall, and wonder if this is going to be a fatal mistake.

But Nik is out there, fighting forme. And I’m done being the damsel in the tower.

I creep through the shattered remains of my sanctuary, trying to pick a path between the glass. I pause, straining my ears. Faint footsteps echo from a nearby room, the sound of glass shifting under careful tread. My breath catches in my throat. “Nik?” I whisper, hoping against hope it’s my protector and not one of the Syndicate women hunting us.

Didtheydo this? Destroy my home?

Silence is the only answer. I inch forward in air thick with smoke. As I get near the end of the hallway, a flicker of movement in my peripheral vision is my only warning. A hand clamps over my mouth, an arm like an iron band around me, yanking me backward. Panic surges through me. I kick out, struggling against my captor with every ounce of strength I possess.

“It’s me,” Nik’s voice hisses in my ear, barely audible.

I go limp with relief, sagging against her. Nik’s grip loosens slightly, but she doesn’t let go. Her breath is warm against my neck as she murmurs, “The other two don’t know who shot that rocket at the house either.”

Lyssa and Scarlett are dangerous enough on their own, but an unknown shooter adds a whole new level of threat. I turn my head slightly, meeting Nik’s eyes in the dim light filtering through the broken windows. Her face is a mask of concentration, eyes sharp as she scans our surroundings.

“What’s the plan?” I breathe, barely moving my lips.

Nik’s response is grim. “Let them shoot it out. Whoever’s left standing, we deal with.”

I think of Holden, still hidden in the safe room, and pray he stays put. We stand frozen, barely breathing, as the sounds of searching grow closer. Glass skips across the floor and I tense, pressing back against Nik. Her arms tighten around me, both protective and reassuring.

The moment stretches, taut as a bowstring. I can hear my own heartbeat, thundering in my ears. I’m terrified that even that small movement might give us away.

A shadow comes into view and I bite down on my lip to keep from gasping. Nik’s arms press more firmly around me, a silent reminder to stay quiet. The shadow pauses, and for a terrifying moment, I’m sure we’ve been spotted.

Then, mercifully, it moves on. I let out a shaky breath, lightheaded with relief.

But the reprieve is short-lived. A voice calls out, shattering the tense silence. “Mrs. Diamond? Are you here?”

I go rigid.

And then the shadow reappears, slowly growing larger, until the owner of that shadow—of that voice—comes into view, holding a wicked-looking rifle.

It’s Katy, the cleaning manager at Solara.

CHAPTER 31

Nik

The moment Katycomes into view, time seems to slow down. I push Brie behind me, shielding her with my body as I level my weapon at the Solara cleaning manager.

“Well, isn’t this a party,” Katy drawls, her lips curving into a smile that does nothing to warm her eyes. But before I even need to make a move, Lyssa and Scarlett spring into action. They’re a blur of coordinated movement, converging on Katy from different angles.

But Katy’s not going down without a fight.

The air explodes with gunfire again. I duck, pulling Brie down to the ground with me as bullets whiz overhead, embedding themselves in the walls with dull thuds that rain down chunks of plaster. “Stay low,” I hiss at her, although she’s flat on the floor as it is.

I spot an opening and take it, firing off two quick shots at Katy. She dives behind an overturned sofa, my bullets missing her by inches.

Damn it, she’s good.

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