Page 59 of Into the Woods

My father’s only brother—his only living relative—orchestrated his death. Manipulated organizations, tore down bridges being built in order for all the families in the area to work together.

He killed my father. Ripped him away and deprived me of growing up, maturing, under my father’s guidance, leaving me at the mercy of his murderer.

“AndMaman?” I ask. Even though I know, I need him to confirm that he had my mother slaughtered as well. My sweet innocent mother.

A derisive scoff is my only answer.

Rage electrifies everything within me, making my blood run thick like hot sludge through my veins. Bringing every move, every expression into laser sharp focus. I’m completely powerless yet coming unglued at the same time.

There is no way out of this.

If either Teague or I shoot, Alain’s reaction will take Winnie out with him.

I scan the room, looking for any, any hint that one of my men is just out of sight, perfectly positioned to end this.

But even then, without a diversion, any shot will result in disaster.

I can’t lose Winnie.

I can’t live without her. There’s nothing left for me to do but give in—to drop my weapon and pray to a god who hasn’t been there for me since the day my uncle had my parents killed that I can somehow find a way through this.

“It was simple, really. And it’ll be even simpler to do it again and get you out of the way for?—”

Two shots ring out in rapid succession, and I swear I almost shit my pants. The idea of losing Winnie when I’ve finally gotten her is too much for me to bear. But the series of events do not add up. The window has shattered inward, throwing shards of glass at the desk, spraying the occupants in shimmering, razor sharp slivers.

Red blooms in bright splashes against Winnie’s bare skin, little pinpricks of hell.

The lone sentry in the corner is leaking heavily as he slumps motionless against the wall.

And Alain… Staring at his still form has me wishing it had been me who took him out.

Chaos rises from momentary silence.

Utter stillness morphs into pandemonium.

Teague dives through the window, dropping from the balcony as he goes after the shooter, allowing me to focus on Winnie.

Her cheeks shine with trails of tears as she trembles uncontrollably, my uncle’s blood splattered across her otherwise flawless skin like a Jackson Pollock.

I holster my weapon and reach down to pull her into my arms. I crush her naked form to me, and relief floods my body as I press her close.

She shivers, her whole being juddering.

I turn to grab a throw blanket from the sofa by the bookshelves to cover her but am pulled up short.

Winnie gasps, a scream of terror bursting from her as her eyes go wide and she’s ripped away from my hold.

Alain wraps his bloody hand around Winnie’s waist and the air wheezes from him, his lips skewed in a lurid grin as he sneers up at me from his perch. “This belongs to me,” he rasps, struggling to get to his feet. He uses Winnie to pull himself upright.

Bastard.

The fucking bastard using her to help himself in anyway is offensive.

Metal glints as they shift, Alain standing unsteadily. The blade of his knife—the one he stole from my father—depresses the creamy unmarked skin at Winnie’s ribs.

That knife is sharp. At least it used to be.

My father kept the blade honed and oiled, gleaming and deadly. The scar on my left palm from childhood curiosity serves as proof.

---