Page 85 of Brazen King

Hot liquid gushes from the space beneath my armpit, alerting me to the fact that I’m losing blood at a rapid pace. A moment later, I feel a crushing weight pressing down on my chest. The bastard must have collapsed my lung.

I grit my teeth, preparing to retaliate, and as I close my fingers around his throat, Natasha steps up behind him, murder in her eyes.

Using a bloody blade she must have retrieved from one of her other victims, she drives it up into the base of my aggressor’s skull. The man goes limp immediately, the life dimming from his eyes like a candle being snuffed out.

And I let him drop.

He hits the ground hard, something giving a sickening crunch as his legs buckle in an awkward direction.

And the silent stillness that follows fills me with intense relief.

“Lance?” I wheeze, checking to make sure my foster brother is still alive.

“Present,” he singsongs in his deep bass, joking darkly—a rare treat—as if I’m the teacher doing roll call. Then his heavy boots scuff back up the cement stairs from what sounds like the floor below.

I attempt a laugh, but the crushing weight in my chest makes it impossible to take a breath. Instead, I give a wet, agonizing cough. And a moment later, the ground comes rushing up to greet me.

“Killian!”

The panic in Natasha’s voice is so genuine, it makes my heart rate kick up a notch, and with monumental effort, I lift my head to find the danger. Her face swims above me, her beautiful silver eyes like full moons in a breathtaking porcelain sky. And cool hands press against my cheeks.

“Oh God, oh God!” she gasps, deep concern consuming her expression. Her soft hands find my side, generating a considerable amount of pain as she applies astonishing pressure to my injury. “Ti, get me something to use as a bandage!” Natasha screams over her shoulder.

Then Lance’s familiar scowl slides into view, the edges of his face going blurry as my head spins. A string of cusses worthy of a sailor issue from his lips, and that’s when I realize it’s bad—the pain that’s blazing across my ribs and tightening like a vise around my lungs. I must be losing a lot of blood to be this lightheaded this fast.

“Stay with me, Killian,” Natasha pleads, fresh tears pooling in her eyes and clinging to her lashes. “You’ll be alright.”

Another racking cough makes my shoulders curl defensively, and this time, I taste copper as wet blood coats my lips. “Well, damn,” I rasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and looking at my crimson smudge to confirm my suspicion.

Natasha’s crying now, thick tears rolling down her prominent cheekbones. I reach up with my other hand to avoidstaining her with my blood, and I wipe them away with my thumb.

“Don’t cry, love,” I murmur. “You’re alright.”

“You’renot alright,” she says, capturing my palm against her cheek as she holds it there with her hand. “You’re losing so much blood…”

My vision flickers, and my eyelids grow heavy, but before sleep can claim me, Natasha’s panicked voice revives me like a shot of adrenaline to the heart.

“Oh God, please, don’t leave me, Killian,” she begs. “I’ll do anything.”

A sob rips from her throat, making her shoulders shake, and it feels like someone’s cutting me open just seeing her so upset. I want to fix it—whatever’s got her so upset—but I’m having a hard time focusing on what the problem is, let alone the solution.

“Even marry me?” I tease, trying to bring levity to a situation. I’m struggling to wrap my head around what’s happening because it feels astonishingly light. Like I’m levitating a foot above my body rather than residing inside it.

“Yes,” she sobs a laugh. “Yes, for Christ’s sake, I’ll marry you if you promise to stay alive.”

That makes me chuckle, but the humor quickly devolves into another hacking cough.

Faintly, I hear Lance telling me to quit joking around before I drown myself. But Natasha’s beautiful face is all I want to focus on.

“Swear you’ll marry me,” I wheeze, running the pad of my thumb over her cheek.

Natasha sobs harder, her face twisting in the most devastating blend of laughter and agony. Then gentle fingers comb into my hair, brushing it back from my face and sending pleasurable tingles across my scalp. And despite my intensedesire to keep my eyes open so I can look at my earth angel for longer, they slowly drift closed.

“I swear it,” she sniffles. “We’ll get married tomorrow if you want.”

“Then, I promise …”

Through the fog of my muddled thoughts, I vaguely hear someone calling my name. But it’s so distant, as if coming from the far side of a long tunnel. Then a thick, heavy exhaustion settles over me and sweeps me off to nothingness.

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