Page 41 of Thorns of Love
I was just about to open my mouth when a voice lashed through the air.
“Take your hands off my wife.” Harshness and the cold tenor in Illias’ voice sent a shiver down my spine. Goosebumps rose on my skin. My eyes flickered over him, but he kept his gaze locked on the two guards. “If I have to say it again, your death will be very long and painful.”
The two guards shared a look and I acted on instinct. One reached for Isla, the other already had his hands on me. I pushed Isla and she stumbled out of the way, her eyes widening in horror that I’d do something like that. The guard that went after her only caught empty air.
But it gave Illias enough time to act.Bang.
The next thing happened so fast but my brain processed it in slow motion. Isla’s scream filled the underground garage. The guard fell on the ground with a grunt, blood pooling around him. He was wounded, not dead. The other guard pulled me closer to him while I fought him, his chest flat at my back and his gun at my temple.
More guards came swarming in. Illias’ gun was trained on the man holding me hostage. He took a step forward, my captor took one back.
“You’re not getting out of this alive.” Illias words were colder than the temperatures outside. My heart beat hard against my ribs, threatening to crack them. My hands covered my lower belly instinctively worried for the baby that had barely reached a few months of life inside me.
My husband didn’t look at me. His dark eyes were trained on the man behind me. His face was a brutal, cold mask that I had never seen before. This was the Pakhan that men feared. This was who Vasili warned me against, but I had never seen this side of him.
Not until now.
I stood stiff, waiting for a sign. Any sign. There was no chance in hell that I wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire if Illias and the idiot behind me started to shoot.
So I took matters into my own hands.
First I said a prayer, even though I wasn’t particularly religious. It didn’t hurt to get a little extra help from up above. Sasha had taught me self-defense since I was a little girl. Of course, the last time I used it against the Yakuza guy in the alley, it didn’t work out that great. But I just needed a little window, and Illias would take care of the rest.
Locking gazes with my husband, I tried to convey a wordless message. I blinked, swallowing the lump in my throat with a barely noticeable nod. I relaxed my body, keeping my breathing even. I needed to hit his ribs with enough force and his grip on me would loosen enough for me to get away from him. A deep breath. Exhale.
With all my strength, I elbowed him into the side of his ribs, then kneeled down on the ground, protecting my stomach with my knees and covering my ears and squeezing my eyes shut.
Bang. Bang.
Two shots. Warm liquid splattered over my face. I kept my eyes shut, stiff in my position. Scared to move.
“Moya luna.” That deep, familiar voice was close. A pair of warm hands on my face. “Open your eyes.”
I did, the world seemed red, so I blinked. A drop of blood dripped off my lashes and trickled down my cheek. Suddenly I wondered if our story maybe didn’t start with blood. The question was whether it would end with it too.
He held my face between his palms, worry etched on his beautiful face made of granite. I was unsure which side of him was true anymore. The one who made my body fall apart at night. The one who saved me - twice now. The one who stared the enemy in the eye. Or the one who used me for leverage?
“Are you okay?” he asked. “How are you feeling?’
“Fine,” I muttered, pulling away from him and rising to my feet. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet. Not after hearing those words between him and Marchetti. Not after what had just happened. He brought me to Russia to keep me safe, and he had enemies in his own home.
How could he possibly protect me and our child if he couldn’t trust his guards?
As bad as it sounded, I didn’t care that he shot someone. In our world, it was kill or be killed. Isabella struggled with it. I never did. However, I struggled with being used and being manipulated.
I smoothed my dress down, blood from the dress staining my fingers. My white wool dress had blood splashed all over it. My breathing was high-pitched, but strangely my mind was calm. Or maybe that was the shock.
My eyes darted to Isla who stood five feet away with two men next to her. Her face was pale and her gaze slightly frantic.
“Maybe no outside pastries today?” I said, my voice strange to my own ears.
Isla swallowed, then nodded. Flicking a glance at the two men on the ground, I strode to my sister-in-law without another glance at my husband.
I knew what he’d do next. After all, he wasn’t that unpredictable.
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