Page 252 of Enemies

I thought I was doing the right thing. Maybe she did too. Maybe they both did. They thought they were doing right by Ash and me. By people who worked for them.

I need to fix this. If I lose everything I’ve built, every damn penny, I need to make it right.

I hope it’s not too late.

I pull out my phone and type out a text because I can’t speak.

Harrison: Leni’s hurt. Someone attacked her outside Debajo. At the hospital now.

The ring back in my pocket, I stare at the photo once more. The woman I love looks at the camera with an amused smile. Before we took the picture, she asked if this was some kind of family portrait.

Leni said, “It’s as close as we’re going to get.”

It is.

Once, I knew how to look after my own. Raegan was my most stubborn challenge—she wouldn’t let me love her, wouldn’t trust me or rely on me. Somehow, I was given the most exquisite fucking gift of being the man by her side while she figured that out.

Now, she’s the person who called me out when I stopped being that man.

I’ve never prayed, but my gaze finds the sky.

Forget destruction. I need redemption.

I will do anything to make this right. Leni, Ash, Raegan. Everything.

23

RAE

I hated fighting with Harrison last night. But when his text comes through, the churning feeling in my gut is replaced with a block of ice.

I grab Ash and run downstairs and into the backseat of the car driven by security that stubbornly clung to me after I left the villa.

“Did he say what happened?” Ash demands as we lean forward, willing the driver to go faster.

“Nothing more than his text.”

At the hospital, we leap out of the vehicle and bolt inside.

The woman at the nursing station tells us Leni’s in the operating room.

“Did anyone come in with her?” I demand.

She gestures to the hall, where one of the security guards from Debajo paces, another slumped in a chair.

I race over to them, Ash at my heels. One of them says, “Mischa’s men. She went out to chase them off.”

My stomach drops, time stopping. “Where’s Harrison?”

Right now, all that matters is he’s alive. I’m terrified by the possibility that he was there too.

“I’m here.”

The two words make me spin so fast I nearly trip.

Harrison King fills the hallway. His shirt is rumpled and stained, his hands covered in dirt.

My heart stops beating. I rush toward him, scanning the dark stains on his white shirt.

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