Page 77 of Sinful Union

“Come,” I say softly, giving Kat’s hand a squeeze. “Let’s go find our daughter.”

I gently guide her out of the office, not wanting her to linger over her brother’s body. She glances back once, her lip trembling, then lets me lead her into the hallway.

The house is a wreck—overturned tables, pockmarked walls, shattered picture frames. Bullet casings glint under the recessed lighting as my men patrol the battered corridors, stepping over the twisted corpses of Piotr’s men.

Kat’s free hand fists against her mouth, her grief and anger taking over. Her eyes flick back and forth across the destruction, but she says nothing.

“Ana. What if Piotr’s men…” She can’t even finish the thought.

“Don’t go there. We’ll find her.”

We push forward. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder. A few of my men are going through the house, calling out to one another, checking corners and closets. Farther down the hall, I hear someone shout, “Clear!” Another voice calls, “No sign of them here!”

We keep searching.

Kat’s steps slow as we approach Ana’s bedroom. The door is riddled with bullet holes. She reaches for the knob, knuckles white. We brace ourselves and step inside. It’s empty—no sign of a struggle, but no sign of our daughter either. My heart clenches as Kat’s lips part in a silent question.Where is she?

“Camille probably hid her somewhere,” I tell her. “Maybe they found the panic room.”

Kat exhales shakily. “Right.”

We hurry into Camille’s room. The door stands ajar, the interior is trashed: clothes tossed, furniture broken. A dresser leans precariously against a wall. My stomach twists, imagining a fight here.

“Ana?” Kat calls. She skims the destruction with worried eyes. “Camille?”

We hear a faint shuffling noise coming from the corner. I raise my gun automatically before a soft voice says, “I…I am here.”

Kat’s eyes widen. “Camille.”

We follow the voice to the other side of the bed. Kat rushes around and I’m right behind her. Camille emerges from beneath the bed, her cheek smeared with blood, hair disheveled. She clings to the bed frame for support, a mixture of relief and shock on her face.

“Camille,” Kat gasps, kneeling to help her. “Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head, fresh bruises marring her face. “They hit me, demanded to know where Ana was, but I didn’t tell them anything.” Her voice breaks. “I said nothing.”

“You did well.” I help Camille to her feet. “Where is Ana?”

Camille glances toward a big, heavy dresser half shoved in front of a door. “She’s locked in the bathroom. I blocked the door with that. I had no time to hide anywhere else before the gunfire started.”

I stare at the massive oak piece. “You pushed that alone?”

She gives a shaky shrug. “I can’t explain. Perhaps it was mama bear strength, yes?”

Kat takes a step toward the dresser, pressing her shoulder against it. I join her, ignoring the throbbing in my muscles from the earlier beating. Together, we manage to shift it aside. It screeches across the torn floorboards, revealing the bathroom door behind it.

Camille nods. “Ana locked herself inside. She wouldn’t open up for me again.”

Kat doesn’t wait. She rushes to the doorknob, frantically rattling it.

“Ana?” she calls. “Baby, open up. It’s Mama.”

No response. I see a flicker of fear cross Kat’s face. Without hesitation, I wedge my shoulder against the door. “Ana, honey, back away from the door,” I warn softly.

Kat steps aside, and I ram it once, twice. The hinges groan, then splinter. One more shove, and the door swings open, revealing a dark bathroom. I flip on the switch, heart in my throat.

A small figure is curled up in the tub, arms wrapped around her knees. As the light flares, she lifts her head, eyes wet with tears. My chest clenches.

Ana.

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