Page 28 of Wild Angel

Thomas is outside.

When he sees me, he puts up a hand.

I don’t even bother slowing down. My gun is still in my hand, and all I do is aim and—

“Don’t!” Vito yells. “Savage, fuck, don’t!”

I barely stop before barreling into Sergio’s favorite bodyguard. But I keep the gun trained on him. Keep it pointed right at his fucking head.

Vito is gasping and panting as he comes closer, but he’s no longer running.

“Move,” I tell Thomas, pushing the word out through my teeth.

Thomas shakes his head.

I step closer, the gun still aimed right between his eyes. A quick, clean shot. He wouldn’t even know he was dead when he hit the floor.

“Savage, stop.” Vito’s words come out in a wheeze. “It’ll only make it worse.”

I don’t want to think aboutit. I don’t want to think about anything except getting Thomas out of my fucking way.

So I take a page out of Nyx’s playbook and kick Thomas right in the fucking balls.

There’s a glimpse of Vito’s shocked face as I spin to face the door, then I kick that too. It takes a few tries, but on the fourth blow, it finally flies open.

I wish it hadn’t.

I wish it had stayed closed for an eternity.

Fuck…I wish I’d never met Nyx.

Because the bolt of white-hot pain that tears through my heart when I see her hurts like a motherfucker. I never want to feel it again.

Sergio looks up at me. Even from across the room, I can see the glint of evil satisfaction in his eyes. He steps back, and Nyx slumps onto the floor like a dead thing.

Fuck, for a heart-wrenching second, I’m convinced sheisdead.

But then she lets out a single, wracking sob, and slowly curls into a tight little ball.

There’s blood.

It’s not all on Nyx. Some of it is on Sergio’s white dress shirt. Some on the carpet. Some more dribbling from the corner of his mouth. As if he can sense me looking at it, he lifts a hand and slowly drags it over his lips.

I don’t know why I’m so fucking happy that she managed to get a shot in.

My uncle works his lips and then spits onto Nyx’s trembling body.

“I’ve had better,” he says, reaching down and digging his fingers into Nyx’s beautiful hair. He grabs a handful and hauls her to her feet.

Her yoga pants are around her ankles, a pink tank—distorted, torn—drapes down the front of her body. Bruises mar her perfect body. Thick lines where Sergio must have hit her with a belt. Another band around her throat, where he must have strangled her into submission.

Vito looks away, his eyes squeezing shut, but I can’t. My eyes are so wide open, they’re stinging.

“Get your whore out of here,” Sergio says.

I can’t move. It feels like I’ve grown roots.

“Savage,” comes Vito’s panicked whisper a foot away from my ear.

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