Page 93 of Owned By Shadows

“I am so fucking mad at you right now, Peaches,” he tells me through gritted teeth, though his grip on my face is gentle. Then he blows out a breath. “But as you have already made your decision, I guess all we can do is carry on and deal with it when it comes up.” He lowers his face, not so much that we’re touching, but enough so that we are looking into each other’s eyes. “But you will fucking tell me as soon as it starts again. That is non-negotiable, otherwise we leave right the fuck now and head to the hospital. Can I trust your word?”

“I will tell you, I swear on our unborn son, Hunt,” I say, meaning it. It hurts that he might not trust me, though I can’t really blame him. I didn’t follow his orders after I promised I would, and I kept this from him, from the others.

“Okay. Unlock the door, then step behind me,” he commands, letting me go but keeping close to my back.

Reaching out again, my hand still shakes, but I manage to press my thumb to unlock the door. Roman steps in the way and opens it as Hunt positions me behind him, Bubby behind me, and Andrei at the back.

My heart pounds as Ro steps into the darkness, and I get one second of silence before the shouting starts.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“IN THE AIR TONIGHT” BY NATALIE TAYLOR

NIKOLAI

We’ve cleared the front of the mansion, which looks like…well, like a bomb has hit it, thanks to Rowan’s toys. Guess you shouldn’t bring guns to a bomb fight.

The other Shadows cover us as we make our way through the splintered front doors, towards my father’s private quarters, which is where Alexei said he was headed in his last communication.

The house is decorated for the holidays with the usual immense Christmas tree covered in gold and silver sitting in the entrance hall. Despite the violence that surrounds it, it twinkles, like it’s waiting for us to sing carols around it. The inside wasn’t touched by the grenades, so it looks as pristine as usual, and a chill works up my spine at the eerie sight. At the normality of it when this situation is anything but.

“Surely we didn’t kill everyone,” Rowan mumbles from next to me, his voice laced with disappointment. I glance at him. He’scovered in blood because the crazy fucker didn’t even use his gun, instead, going in, knife first.

“They’re waiting for us,” I whisper back, my eyes scanning the space, our footsteps and quiet breathing the only sound.

“You were always such a disobedient pup,” a heavily accented voice calls from the dark, and I clench my jaw.

“And you were always a cunt, Igor,” I snarl, looking around to see where he is and if there are others.

The bastard is one of my father’s generals who I didn’t even consider trying to recruit. He was one of the ones who took great delight in meting out my punishments, hitting me harder than needed, especially when I was a child.

He steps from the shadows, his gun pointed straight at my head, a smug smile on his fucking ugly face.

“Better that than a weakling,” he sneers, his thick upper lip curling.

“And yet it’s you my father sent rather than meeting me head-on. Maybe weakness runs in my genes,” I reply, acting completely unaffected by his words, which makes his face tick. He always was led by his rage, never learning to temper it like I had to. To hone it into a weapon that I chose to wield.

“You will show some damn respect!” he roars, taking a menacing step forward, and I smile when the glint of a blade comes down, cleaving his hand from his body.

He blinks for a second, blood spurting from the stump where just moments ago his hand was, holding the gun that no doubt he planned to end my life with.

“You really should watch the shadows,” Rowan says conversationally as the large man drops to his knees, gripping his bloody stump and whining like a bitch. “You never know when one is gonna jump out and cut off your hand.”

I laugh. He is one crazy fucking bastard, but boy am I glad he’s on our side.

I stalk towards the man, one of my tormentors, who is now a quivering mess on the polished marble floor, blood dripping steadily from his stump.

“I’d let you get one more hit in, for old times’ sake,” I tell him, bringing up my gun and pointing it right between his wide eyes. “But I really don’t have the time.”

The shot is quiet. I’ve a silencer on, as we all do just to keep our movement a little hidden, although if Igor knew we’d be here, maybe my father has bypassed what Bubby did with the cameras and is tracking us anyway.

The big Russian crumples to the ground, eyes open and unseeing.

“He used to beat me until I couldn’t move,” I say as I gaze at his body. “Even as a child, which he took great delight in, sick bastard.”

I collect some saliva in my mouth, spitting it on the ground in front of him, then step over his body. The others follow silently as we make our way deeper into the mansion, deeper into hell.

The faint noise of shouting in Russian assaults my ears, and I hold my fist up, pausing everyone as we listen.

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