Page 62 of Wicked Sinner
I can feel my brain briefly short-circuiting with the sensation of having her in my arms willingly again, her face against my chest as she lets out a breathless sob. The feeling of her wanting me,needingme, even if for only a moment.
“Bridget—” I look down at her, brushing her hair away from her face. “We need to go. What happened? What?—”
Before she can answer, I hear the heavy crunch of gravel under boots, and I freeze.
"—sure she's in there?"
"Attendant said he saw her go in.”
“Boss wants her alive. Make sure you don’t hurt her too badly when you?—”
I push Bridget behind me on instinct, drawing my gun the moment that the bathroom door flings open and I see three men standing on the other side.
They're dressed in black, armed with pistols, and they have the look of professionals. Not street thugs—these are soldiers.
The first one registers me a split second before I put a bullet between his eyes. The second one manages to get his gun halfway up before I put two in his chest. The third one is faster, smarter, and he dives to the side as he returns fire, missing me as the bullet goes wide and tile sprays from the wall next to me.
The gunshots are deafening in the confined space, and I can hear Bridget screaming my name as she stumbles back, trying to get cover. The sound of her voice, terrified but alive, gives me the strength to push forward.
I veer to one side, still trying to cover Bridget as I look for a line of sight on the last gunman. He's good—better than the other two—but he's also panicked. When he pops up to take another shot, I'm ready for him.
The bullet takes him in the throat, and he goes down gurgling.
“We need to go.” I keep my gun out—there’s one bullet left—and reach for Bridget where she’s cowering behind a sink. “My car is where the SUV wrecked. More might come. We need to gonow.”
Even as I say the words, my mind is racing. This wasn't random. This was planned, coordinated. Someone wanted Bridget dead, and they were willing to kill my men to get to her.
Someone is going to pay for this in blood.
“Can you walk?” I ask her, and she nods.
“It just grazed me,” she manages through clenched teeth. “It hurts, but I can walk. Probably faster than you can carry me.”
I shake my head, scooping her up into my arms. “There’s no telling how bad it actually is. Just hang on.”
By now, the gas station attendant might be calling the police. There’s not a damn thing they’re going to do to me, but explanations and bribes take more time than I want to spend on anything other than getting Bridget to safety right now. I hold her tightly against my chest with one arm, the other keeping my gun at the ready as we slip out of the bathroom and I look for any other attackers.
Their black SUV is parked diagonally to the gas station, but there’s no one else in it. I walk as quickly as I can, taking a route back to the Ferrari that doesn’t follow the blood trail this time, in case more are coming. “What the fuck happened?” I ask, and Bridget lets out a long breath.
“I don’t really know,” she whispers. “The SUV was attacked. They—” She swallows hard. “They shot Marco and Bryce. I was going to run, and they grabbed me. I kicked one of them, called you, and tried to go to the back of the car, but there were more?—”
She breathes in shakily. “They got the phone away from me. Got me into the car, but I managed to claw one of them in the eyes. He let go of me just long enough that I got to the door and ran, but they followed me. They were trying to shoot me, and—” Her gaze drops to her bloody leg. “They almost got me. I ran to the gas station, and it sounded like they were falling back.”
“They probably called for instructions. They didn’t expect you to fight back like that.” Relief washes over me at how tough she is, how much more capable than I would have ever imagined, even knowing her. The fact that she threw them off enough that they likely had to call in to ask what to do next saved her. It gave me time to get to her.
We make it back to the Ferrari, and I ease Bridget into the passenger side before hurrying around to the driver’s. For once, I’m not worried about her running, and I hadn’t realized justhow much of a relief that would be. How good it would feel to know that she’s not going anywhere, at least for now.
The drive back is silent, and when I look over, I see Bridget’s eyes are closed. Panic runs through me for a brief moment before I realize her chest is still lightly rising and falling—she’s asleep.
I fight the urge to reach out and touch her, speeding up as much as I can while still driving safely in an effort to get back as soon as possible. I’ve already sent a message to Dr. Ackley, demanding she drop everything and get to the penthouse immediately. She won’t blink at a suspicious bullet wound—she’s worked for the criminal families of Miami far too long for that.
My mind is racing as I drive, working through the possibilities, trying to figure out who's behind this. I keep coming back to Tristan, though there are others it could have been. I keep thinking about how silent he was during the meeting. How he was a few minutes late.
It’s not the most rational suspicion, though it is a possibility. But it feels like it’s sunk into my brain, making me angrier and more certain that it’s him with each passing moment.
If he tried to hurt Bridget, I’ll have his life for it. Whether Konstantin likes it or not.
Back at the penthouse, I carry Bridget straight to the master bedroom, settling her on my bed as Dr. Ackley comes in behind me. Bridget looks at her with an expression of distaste, but she says nothing as her hand goes to her stomach.
