Page 11 of Prodigal

André launched himself in front of Jules, giving her his back as he faced the gunman. “Shoot me. Let her go.” He opened his arms wide. “Let her go and you can have me. Take m-my wallet. My car keys. I have—” The money from his monster of a father. He could give them that. “I have money. You can t-take that.”

“Just shut him up.” The one holding the gun on Tony spoke for the first time. “He talks too fucking much. Shut him up and let’s get out of here.”

What did that?—

A bang sounded and André flinched. Juliette screamed. Had he been shot? He didn’t feel the bullet. But that had to be the adrenaline numbing him, right? The gunman in front of him jerked, body flying backward before he crumpled to the floor.

What the fuck?

André’s knees gave up on him then and he crashed to the floor as chaos rained around him. Bodies dropped. Another of the masked men—the one on Tony—slumped to the floor, this time with a spray of blood that hit Tony in the face. What was happening? He scrambled for cover, reaching out for Juliette. The excruciating pain in his head was making it difficult for him to keep his eyes open—everything around him was spinning—but he held on to his sister, yanking her out of the chair and down onto the floor with him, covering her violently shaking body with his own.

He murmured to her, words meant to offer comfort. Telling her they would be all right, but he didn’t know for sure. In the blink of an eye, their night had gone from mundane to this waking nightmare. Spine-bending chills raced from his headdown his back, and he squeezed his eyes shut as gunshots rang out around him. He didn’t know who was shooting or where they’d come from, and he didn’t want to know; he just wanted to keep Juliette safe the way he’d promised their mother he would.

He wanted?—

A hand on his shoulder made him stiffen, but he didn’t move. He refused to move.

“You’re safe now,” a low, deep voice said above him. It wasn’t a voice he recognized. He didn’t trust the speaker.

“André.”

Without slackening his grip on Juliette, he jerked his head up. The room spun with the sudden movement, and he sucked in a breath as his vision blinked in and out.

“You’re hurt.” Blue eyes. That was all he saw, bright blue eyes staring down at him. “Let me help.”

“No, leave…” He felt his body giving out, his hold on Jules sliding away. Panic rode him, but he couldn’t make himself form the proper words. “Jules. Protect—” He passed out before he could complete the sentence.

5

André came to with a jerk,heart hammering in his chest. He lurched upright and glanced around. There was nothing about his surroundings he recognized, nothing about the soft mattress under his ass and the stark white of the walls. The bedroom was almost clinical in its cleanliness, so different from his own bedroom with all its color and clutter.

What the— Where was he?

“Jules?” Where was his sister? He pushed to the edge of the bed, wincing at the pain in his head. He touched a hand to his forehead and felt a bandage there. At least the pain wasn’t as bad as it’d been before, but where was— “Jules!” How had they gotten to wherever they were? Who’d taken them? The last thing he remembered was blue eyes telling him he was safe, but that couldn’t be true because he didn’t know where he was and he couldn’t find his sister. Panic burned the back of his throat, turning it bitter, and he rose on shaky legs only to sink back onto the bed.

Fuck.Maybe he stood too soon, but he had to get to Jules. Wherever she was. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to ease the fear and panic. Since their mom’s death, it’d been him and Jules.She’d never been out of his sight. He was supposed to take care of her, protect her. But now?

A sound near the door caught his attention and he swung his gaze in that direction, then blinked.

A man stood there. Dark blond, taller than André’s 5’11” height and way more fit. He stared with frost-blue eyes framed by dark brows. Familiar eyes. This was who he’d seen back at the pizza place before he passed out. Sharp nose, strong jawline, a hint of scruff, and full lips. This guy was beautiful, but something about him put André on alert and had words dying on his tongue. Something about him, about the way he stood there with his hands in the pockets of his dark slacks, crisp white shirt straining over taut muscles, multiple buttons undone giving more than a peek at a hairless chest.

“Who are you?” André demanded when he found the courage to speak. “Where is my sister?”

Dude didn’t show any kind of reaction. Instead, he simply strode closer, his black leather shoes making no sound on the exposed wood floor. “André, right?”

A voice so deep, André felt its rumble to the soles of his feet. He mentally shook off the thought and stood on unsteady legs. The guy didn’t move. “Where is my sister?” His voice rose, and though he knew he should be wary, he didn’t care. “I want to see Jules.”

“Miss Juliette is sleeping.” The guy’s tone was steady, without inflection, as he studied André. “She fell asleep watching over you and had to be put to bed. I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted her to overexert herself more after all she’d been through tonight.”

André swallowed at the reminder and glanced away before returning his gaze to him. “I want to see her. And what is your name? Why are we here, wherever here is?”

“I’m Gideon.” He turned toward the door, giving a confused André his back. “Let’s go see your sister.”

André rushed to catch up to him as they walked through what appeared to be a penthouse apartment, judging from the views out a bank of windows that made up a wall. There was nobody about and their footsteps—well, his clumsy footsteps—echoed on the gleaming floors as they climbed a flight of winding stairs that took them to a second floor. He had a million questions but swallowed them all. He needed to see Jules first, make sure she was safe before anything else.

She was priority.

The guy—Gideon—stopped abruptly in front of a door and pointed. “She’s in there. I’ll wait for you out here.”

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