Page 9 of My Dark Ever After
“Oh my God,” I murmured, pressing my lips to my knee as I swallowed the bile in my throat.
What the fuck was happening?
A moment later, quiet descended, and I realized that there was utter stillness in the limo around me. Kirkpatrick lay half inside the car, his brains splattered on the upholstery. The other man who had chased me was visible on the pavement beyond him, blood spreading around his body like a red halo. When I found the courage to unravel and peek into the front seat through the transparent partition, two bodies sat in the seats unmoving.
The crunch of shoes over glass alerted me to someone moving my way.
Without hesitation, I fell forward toward Kirkpatrick, groping over his body to grab the gun caught loosely in one hand. The metal was still warm from his grip as I fumbled it between my fingers. After scooting to the other side of the car on my butt, I adjusted the gun, then rested my wrist on my knee so it would stop shaking.
I waited.
It only took seconds for the man to appear in the doorway, just his suited torso beneath an open overcoat. A gun hung loosely in one hand as he kicked at Kirkpatrick and then dragged him out of the way with one fierce tug, depositing him on the pavement like a pile of rubbish.
Done with that, he turned his attention to the inside of the car.
I sucked in a deep breath, my finger fluttering against the trigger, ready to pull at the slightest provocation. When the man stepped into the doorframe and slowly lowered himself to fit through the gap, I pulled the trigger.
The bullet lodged in the frame, a handspan from the stranger’s shoulder.
“I’m armed,” I announced, my voice thin but loud. “Tell me who the hell you are, or next time I’ll put one between your eyes.”
Too many films,I scolded myself almost hysterically. I wasn’t even sure I could aim to hit the manat allwith the way my hands trembled.
“You know who I am,” the man said before ducking his head into the car and fixing me with that familiar pale-bronze stare.
“Raffa.” The word fell from my mouth in an exhale of shock and relief.
“Vera,” he said, his voice so soft it reached between us like a silken feather to caress my bloodstained cheek. “What have they done to you,cerbiatta mia?”
Without a single second of hesitation, I dropped the gun to the floor with a dull, concussive thud, and I crawled across the distance between us to throw myself into Raffa’s arms.
He caught me instantly, cradling me in his arms with one hand palming the entire back of my skull as I fit my face into his neck and burst into tears.
“Hush, hush,” he murmured as he slowly worked us both out of the car and stood easily with me in his embrace. “I have got you now. And I will not let you go again.”
Chapter Three
Guinevere
The car was silent but for theshush shushof snow under the wheels and the faint strain of classical music someone had playing in the front seat of the massive black SUV Raffa had bundled me into immediately after catching me up in his arms.
I was still there, in his arms, even though I knew I would have to leave the false serenity of that embrace before long.
There were too many questions to ask and issues to be solved for me to pretend that all was well between us.
But for now, I was desperate for some peace, however short lived. So I’d been silent and pliable as he’d handed me water to swirl the taste of blood out of my mouth, then as he’d carefully inspected the bullet graze on my temple and declared it had stopped bleeding.
The scent of Raffa—oak and moss and burning firewood—suffused my senses as I curled into his strong chest, one hand wrapped in the fine silk weave of his suit jacket, smearing it with blood. He was warm and solid, a living shield I knew, even after our acrimonious split, would shelter me from anything.
Though that just reminded me that he might have been the reason I was in danger in the first place.
“Why did they come after me?” I asked, my voice cutting up my sore throat so badly that I winced. “Was it because of you?”
It was Raffa’s turn to wince. It was so faint I only noticed the gesture because I was in his arms. “I am not sure, though I would have to suppose that yes, they came for you to get to me. Things have ... escalated back home.”
“Because they were undermining you?” I surmised, staring out the window at the icy landscape, unseasonably early in the year, and feeling the echo of that cold deep in my bones.
“Because they attempted to hurt you,” he growled, the words rumbling through his chest and into me. Reflexively, his hands tightened around me almost to the point of pain. When I whimpered softly, he relaxed, smoothing a big palm down my spine. It was unconsciously done, and there was something beautiful about his instinct to soothe me.
