Page 82 of Dark Desires
Then, like a damn action hero, Alexei bursts into the room.
He’s in his sleeping pants and a black T-shirt, a gun in hand. In that moment, he looks every bit the avenging angel, and for a moment, I think I might cry with relief.
“Let her go!”
The men use me as a human shield, pulling me in front of them. One shouts something in Spanish that I don’t understand, but the meaning is clear. They’re daring Alexei to make a move.
His eyes narrow, his gun steady, but he doesn’t fire. I can tell he’s trying to find an opening.
Meanwhile, I’m absolutely terrified. They’re dragging me closer to the elevator. Alexei follows but cannot take a shot without risking hitting me.
The men manage to get into the elevator and the doors close. Instead of going down, however, they go up to the roof. Once the doors open, I see a helicopter there, its blades whirring. They shove me hard toward the landing area.
Two more men stand by the chopper, and they grab me, dragging me onboard.
“Ah, Isabella,” a smooth, familiar voice greets me.
I look up, my stomach sinking. None other than Christian de la Rosa is on the helicopter with me, a drink in his hand, a pleased expression on his face.
“It’s so good to see you again,Bonita. We have so much to talk about.”
Before I can respond, a black bag is yanked over my head, plunging me into darkness.
CHAPTER 27
ALEXEI
“Isabella!”
The noises are deafening—shouts in Spanish, screams from Isabella, and the whipping of the helicopter blades.
My chest tightens as I watch her being hauled up, her terrified screams fading as she vanishes out of sight. She’s gone, pulled out of my reach, and my blood turns to ice.
“Isabella!” I shout her name again, but it’s pointless—they’ve got her.
Gunfire rips through the air, snapping me back into the moment. There are two men still here, in my apartment, trying to cover their tracks. My grip tightens on my gun, rage boiling over.
I pivot and fire, my bullet catching one of them in the shoulder. He stumbles, clutching his arm, but the other one reacts instantly, opening fire and forcing me to dive for cover behind the couch. The acrid stench of gunpowder fills the air as rounds chew through the furniture, splintering wood and shredding fabric.
I blind-fire over the top of the couch, hearing a grunt as one of my shots connects. Good. I reload quickly, rising just enough to fire again.
My focus is singular: Find the bastards, neutralize them, and figure out where the hell they’re taking Isabella.
A shadow moves in my peripheral vision. My instincts scream at me to turn, but I’m too late.
Bang.
Pain explodes in my head as a boot slams into it. The force sends me stumbling backward, my breath knocked clean out of my lungs. I hit the floor hard, the sharp edge of an end table connecting with the back of my head.
Everything goes black.
A pounding headache drags me back to consciousness.
I feel like I got hit by a truck, and for a moment, I lie there, the events before my blackout rushing back in jagged flashes. Isabella. The men. The gunfire.
I groan and press a hand to my head. There’s blood. The left side of my face stings and pulsates from the pain where the back of my head met the end table.
My fingers tremble as I look around and notice the pool of blood I woke up in. I’m alone, which means they mistook me for dead and left. I’ll make them pay for that mistake.It takes a lot more to crack this particularly hard skull of mine.
