Page 142 of Ruthless Redemption

“You fucking bitch.” I snatch the blade from Emmanuel’s throat, pointing it at Adena as his arms fall limp to the floor. “You realize you’re as much at fault here as he is. You let him get away with everything—with using your kids, with torturing them. His death is on your hands.”

Her chest rises and falls, while tears course over her cheeks. “All of you had everything you ever needed,” she screeches, her gaze trekking to her lifeless husband, her face crumpling. “You’re the one who deserves to die. Not him.”

She’s delusional.

Unhinged.

“You need to get out of here.” I keep low, hunched to protect myself from the continued gunfire as Remy shoots at men who round the corner of the house.

“You’re the one who deserves to die,” she repeats, oblivious to the danger surrounding her.

She’s going to attack. I can see it in her eyes. In her tightly coiled posture.

“Don’t do it,” I warn.

“I wish you were never born,” she wails, running for me.

I drop the knife and brace for contact. I feel the impact a second before she hits. Her barrage strikes me in the gut. Her fists aim for my face. I grab her arms, rolling onto my ass with her momentum, sending her sailing over my head.

She clatters into the table, the collision hard, her cry loud.

I keep rolling, gravity pulling me farther backward until my shoulders hit the deck, sinking the shard deeper into flesh. “Fuck.”

Nausea hits.

Vertigo decimates me.

I climb onto my hands and knees as men shout and birds squawk, my shoulder pulsing like a motherfucker. But Adena doesn’t make another attack. She crawls past the slayed guards near the pool house wall, rises to her feet, then runs.

“Make sure we get them all,” Remy yells.

I struggle to stand, blinking through clouded vision.

“Matt, you okay?” Salvo calls across the yard.

I’m fucking peachy and entirely ripe for the field day Bishop is going to have with my injury. Who gets stabbed with a fucking plate? By their own goddamn mother?

“Matt?” Salvo shouts.

I hear him. I even raise my head to look at him. But my eyes act as if I’m high as a kite. The world blurs. Darkens into obscurity. And my gut.Fuck. It burns.

“Where’s Layla?” I squint toward the house. Stumble from the deck. “Shit.”

I can’t even keep my legs locked. They’re too heavy. Too fucking weak.

Something isn’t right.

“Matthew?” Remy jogs toward me. “You okay?”

No. I’m not.

My heart beats out of my chest. And my head.Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me?

I collapse to my knees. Then my hands. “Save Layla.”

28

LAYLA

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