Page 269 of The Devil's Thorn
“You’re the only thing I’ve wanted…”
I wanted to scream. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted toshootsomething—anything—just to feel control in a world that kept tearing it from me.
My breath caught, sharp in my throat, and my finger hovered just beside the trigger. And then I heard it. The first engine. Then another. And another.
Headlights sliced through the trees behind us—bright, blinding beams that moved like searchlights across the gravel. I turned my head sharply, Rafael doing the same, and in seconds… they were everywhere.
SUVs. Four, five, then more. Blacked-out, sleek, tactical. Doors flew open in perfect sync. Men stepped out.
Twenty, maybe thirty of them. Uniformed. Heavy boots. Faces covered in black balaclavas. Rifles locked against their chests, their formation military-perfect—tight and sharp like they’d done this a hundred times before.
My pulse exploded.What the hell?—
Rafael’s arm slammed in front of me. “Behind me.”
I didn’t move fast enough. They were already closing in. One voice shouted in Russian—short, clipped, authoritative.Guns were raised.
“Rafael—”
“Don’t speak,” he growled, eyes flicking across them like he was counting exits. “Stay still.”
But I couldn’t. I took a step back. My gun still in my hand, though it felt useless now. I didn’t even see where they came from—how they flanked so quickly—but within seconds, three of them had Rafael.
Two grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back. Another jammed a rifle into his spine. “Klyanysya na koleni!” —Get on your knees.
“No—” I started, lunging forward.
Someone grabbedmefrom behind. Rough hands yanked my wrists, twisting them behind my back, forcing me to drop the gun.
I struggled. Hard.
“Get your hands off me!”
But it was no use. They were trained.
I thrashed, teeth clenched, fury burning through my veins—but they dragged me back anyway.
I caught Rafael’s eyes just as they forced him down. His knees hit the gravel. His head was high. Shoulders straight, even as one of the men shoved the muzzle of a rifle to the back of his skull.
His eyes were only on me. Eventhen.
“Rafael—”
“Don’t fight,” he said, voice calm. Controlled. But I saw it—the tightness in his jaw, the barely restrained rage in his eyes. “Not yet.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
Boots crunched around us as the men formed a wide circle—guns up, formation tight. Not sloppy. Not rushed. This wasn’t an ambush thrown together in panic. This wasplanned. Organized. Prepared.
They knew we’d be here.
The realization hit like a bullet. My blood ran cold. Someoneknew. Someone hadledthem here. And as they forced my arms tighter behind my back, dragging me toward Rafael but nottohim—I felt it. That final drop in my stomach. The silence between orders. The moment before the storm cracks open.
Someone else was coming.
I twisted hard in the grip of the man behind me, his arm like iron around my chest, breath hot at my ear.
No.
