Page 46 of Brutal Reign
“This is no accident,” he growls, eyes scanning for threats as we move.
Chaos erupts behind us as all the guests try to run at once. I catch a glimpse of tuxedo-clad guards herding the guests through the back doors toward the docks.
Simon forces open a service door that leads into a narrow corridor lined with utility panels and storm equipment, shoving me ahead of him. Terror floods through me. If armed enemies are storming this place, Kin is in danger.
“Where are we going?” I struggle against his iron grip. “We have to get Kin first?—”
“They don’t want your son,” Simon snaps, never slowing his relentless pace. “This is about us.”
I dig my heels in, trying to wrench free, but he only tightens his hold as he drags me through another door into the humid air. My heels sink into the landscaped earth, and the sounds of violence echo across the estate.
“What do you mean,they? Is this the Syndicate?” It has to be. I warned him they were dangerous enemies, something he should have understood himself, but his arrogance got the bestof him. I stumble as he pulls me down a narrow path carved between hedges and stone. “Simon, please stop?—”
He ignores my pleas, and when we break through the tree line, I see our destination: a secondary landing pad positioned well away from the main pad. The sound of an approaching helicopter confirms my worst fear—that he's going to drag me away without Kin.
I plant my feet and refuse to move another step, my wedding dress catching on thorny shrubs. “No! Kin is still in the house. I’m not leaving without him!”
Simon’s grip becomes painful. “You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do.”
I yank against him again, but it’s no use. Simon has positioned himself behind me, one arm around my waist, the unmistakable chill of metal pressing into my ribs. I freeze.
“Don’t make me use this,” he threatens through clenched teeth. “I don’t know how the fuck they found us here, how the fuck they made it through security, but they’re out for blood, and you’re too valuable for me to leave behind.”
The world tilts sideways, my breath coming fast and shallow. “You’d rather kill me than let me protect my child?”
“I won’t give those Russian dogs a chance to use you as leverage against me. And I won’t be made to look weak… to be the man who loses his bride at the altar.”
Despite the gun, I twist in his grasp, because the only thing that matters is saving my son. “I don’t care. Let me go?—”
He slaps me across the face, and my head jerks back. My knees give out, as much from shock as anything else, and I crumple to the ground hard, my palms scraping against the dirt as I try to catch myself.
Simon’s on me in an instant, straddling my waist, pinning me with his weight. The muzzle of the gun presses under my chin.
“Listen carefully,” he says with deadly calm. “You’re worth more to me alive than dead, but that calculation changes the second they get their hands on you. Your choice: leave with me now, or I'll kill you here and tell everyone you died in the attack.”
His words barely penetrate the roar of panic in my head. Gun or no gun, threat or no threat, none of it matters if Kin is hurt because I wasn’t there to protect him. I’d rather die trying to save my son than live knowing I abandoned him.
I close my eyes, summoning whatever fight I have left. But before I can move, I feel Simon tense above me. The air shifts with something charged and dangerous.
“Hurt her, and I’ll carve your fucking throat open and use your vocal cords as string.”
That voice. Low, lethal, and oddly familiar in a way that makes my blood go still.
My eyes fly open to find a man standing behind Simon. A blade gleams at Simon’s neck, pressed to the soft hollow under his jaw. But it’s not only the knife that stops me cold; it’s the man holding it.
The man I’ve spent the last five years dreaming about, wondering about. Lukas, my son’s father. Except it’s not Lukas. How could it be?
He might look like him, but there’s no trace of his charming Swedish accent. This man’s voice is coarser, harsher, like the rest of him. He’s bigger, broader, and his hair is longer, but those slate-gray eyes are the same.
I blink a few times. My eyes must be playing tricks on me.
“Who the fuck are you?” Simon snarls, unable to turn his head because of the knife pushed against his neck.
He smiles, and it’s ugly. “Your worst nightmare.”
With a sneer, the stranger increases the blade’s pressure until a thin line of blood appears. “Get that gun away fromher, or I’ll slit your jugular so fast you won’t even realize you’re bleeding out.”
“Fine,” Simon grits out, but a moment later, he twists fast, throwing his weight sideways and rolling off me while knocking the blade away with a sharp movement.
