Page 66 of Savage Rule

Twisting my wrist out of his grasp, I throw head forward, hitting him hard on the jaw and knocking him out cold. As he stumbles backward, I swipe my leg low, catching his mate right on the shins. He screams and goes down to his knees, but before I can finish him, I’m yanked back by my hair.

“Fucking bitch!” window guy yells in my ear. He throws me to the floor and kicks me in the stomach.

I hate getting a foot to the gut. It’s more the guttural sounds forced out of you and the inability to breathe than the pain itself. And it does seem to take me forever to suck in a breath.

“Finish her.” The other man, the one I’d kicked in the shins, manages to stand up and he’s pissed. “Just fucking finish her.”

“The boss wants her alive.”

“Fuck them.” Shin guy rubs his leg and grimaces. “We can say she attacked us.”

“I like that idea.”

I’m lying there, hand clutched to my abdomen, gasping, when the click of the hammer has me peering up, right into the barrel of his gun.

My life doesn’t flash before me as I’ve been told. Actually, not much thought happens besides wondering if I should close my eyes or keep them open.

In the end, I decide the image I’d rather take with me to the beyond is definitely not of a gun. At least, not that type of gun. So I shut my lids and think of Gunn.

Two shots crack through the air. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t even feel that cold sensation I’ve heard about.

“Get up!” I’m unceremoniously hauled up. “Are you hurt?”

I open my eyes as Gunn inspects me for injury. On the floor are the two men. Dead.

“They were your soldiers,” I say in disbelief. “You took out your own for me?”

“Not mine. Luca’s.”

“But you’re part of the alliance.”

“Not anymore.” He takes my hand and tugs me out of the orphanage house. “We have to go. Reinforcements will be on the way.”

His Ducati is still on when we reach it. Gunn slings a leg over the seat and I follow suit.

We take off at a breakneck speed. I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and press my cheek against his back, not because of fear of falling off, but for fear that this might be a dream and I’ll wake up. A dream in which Gunn came back for me.

And I don’t want to let go.

“Where are we?” I ask as we pull up to a black iron gate.

“St. Joseph’s Cemetery.” He drives through the entrance and we wind our way toward the back.

I hate cemeteries. Hate how eerily quiet they are, especially at night. Full of secret keepers. The hushed.

Imagine if those people beneath the lush grass and crawling mist could talk. What would they say? Who would they point their fingers at?

Me.

My mouth suddenly dry, I ask, “Isn’t this where the Sinacores are buried?”

“Yes.” He gives me a grim look. “And so is she.”

“Who?” I ask, even as the answer comes to me. Because I know. I have always known.

Gunn parks the bike at the edge of a pass and shuts the engine. We have to walk from here.

“Come.” He gets off and extends his hand to me.

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