Page 88 of Guarded By the Phantom

The gun came closer as he raised my head with effort. Realization hit me. I was going to die. Actually die.

I couldn’t protect her anymore.

“I’m sorry, doll,” I whispered.

Chapter 30

Barbara

The terror I felt when watching that video came back as a powerful echo when the fight began. Bile rose in my throat. I knew Scarab was strong, probably stronger than all three of them together, but what if they got lucky? Just once was enough, and he’d be dead. I couldn’t allow it.

Ignoring the way my head pounded, I crawled out of my hiding place. I couldn’t help breathing hard but bit back all sounds of pain so as not to attract their attention. Chains clung, Scarab mouthed off, weapons scraped and bodies thudded, and I ignored it all, focusing on one goal only.

Scarab’s bag.

As soon as I got to it, I knew I was in trouble. There were multiple types of guns, and I clenched my jaw, searching with my shaking hands for anything I could use. I hissed when I cut myself on a knife. Of course, Scarab was armored, so he didn’t need all his blades to be sheathed.

Breathing too fast and fearing what else was in there, I kept searching until I found the single thing I knew how to use. Igrabbed the lever of the grenade in my teeth and crawled back to the table, glancing at the fighters. One of the hunters was down, unconscious or dead on the floor.

And… Scarab was down, too. I hiccupped in terror as one of the hunters straddled his back and raised his skull, a gun in his other hand.

It was now or never. I was almost to the table but didn’t know whether I’d make it. It was fine, though. Wasn’t I ready to die just this morning?

I gripped the lever in my shaking hand and pulled out the pin.

I threw the grenade clumsily. It rolled on the floor, stopping by Scarab’s arm with a metallic clink. I crawled behind the table with the last of my strength, praying for enough time.Just one more second. One more.

There was a panicked shout.

A gunshot.

And then—an explosion.

I screamed when the table moved, pushed back by the shock wave. It hit my side, and I fell over, curling in on myself with shaking sobs I couldn’t hear, my ears deafened by the blast.

I was too late.

The gun went off, which meant they killed him, just before the grenade exploded.

Time slithered by, maybe a few seconds, maybe a minute. I was too weak to get up. As debris fell around the room, I shook and sobbed, my heart torn open. He was gone. Nothing I had done mattered—none of it. I truly was one stupid, vapid doll, all my choices leading to catastrophes.

Now I wished I hadn’t made it behind the table, after all. I wished I’d been blown to bits, too, my body parts littering the bridal suite.

If I had had any strength left, I would have crawled over to Phantom’s bag and picked out a gun to put a bullet through theroof of my mouth. As it was, I could only lie there curled up in a fetal position and weep, grieving the man who was dead because of me.

Smoke spread like a black cloak in the room, and I coughed soundlessly, inhaling the oily air that coated my throat with grime. I couldn’t get up. My ears rang, louder and louder. I didn’t hear anything else. Would people come to check what happened? Would they see me curled up behind the table?

Maybe it was better if they didn’t. The smoke would finish me off. It was fitting.

Time stretched into a viscous cage of agony. After another minute or maybe fifteen, the floor seemed to shake under my cheek. Then again. I opened my teary eyes, just making out the blurry shape of a black boot. Then, the floor fell away as I was lifted up, a pair of strong arms carrying me as we moved through the smoke. When it shifted, I saw the blood splattering the walls, then the holes in the ceiling. Something wet and bloody hung off the chandelier like a gory ornament. I closed my eyes.

The air cleared and cooled. I gulped big breaths of it, even though I wanted to go back there and suffocate. It was over. My love was dead, and I wanted to be by his side.

We kept moving, my body weightless and torn with pain. The air shifted once more, the scent of flowers making it through the layers of smoke clogging up my nose. I coughed and coughed, shaking, and someone stroked my hair and held me close, a warm body cushioning mine.

And then, they left. I thought I made a sound, something pleading and helpless, and a hand came back to stroke my back as I lay on my side on a hard surface. Somebody touched my head, gloved, cold hands sliding over my ear and down my cheek, and I shut my eyes even more tightly.

I wanted to go back.

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