Page 37 of Crimson Sin
I grip the gun tucked in my waistband, the metal warm and familiar in my palm. It has been with me for fifteen years, since my father first put it in my hands and told me that mercy was for men who could afford it. Today, I plan to empty every round into whoever dared bring violence to my home.
Then, as suddenly as it began, silence falls over the estate like a shroud. The absence of gunfire is almost more unnerving than the battle itself. In the quiet, I can hear Naomi's ragged breathing, the distant hum of the security system, and the thudding of my own pulse in my ears.
A minute later, Lex's voice filters through the intercom again, steady despite whatever hell he's just walked through.
“All clear,pakhan. Perimeter secure. Three hostiles down.”
“Casualties?” My voice is scraped raw by adrenaline and the smoke that's starting to seep under the door.
“Timur took a graze to the shoulder. Maksim's fine. We have a problem, though. This wasn't random. They knew the weak spot in the north wall and exactly where to hit the motion sensors.”
The confirmation of what I already suspected makes my jaw clench. Someone on the inside fed them information. Someone I trusted has betrayed me, and that betrayal nearly cost Naomi her life.
I lift myself just enough to look down at her. She stares back at me, shaken but alive, the red glow dancing in her brown eyes like firelight. There's a small cut on her cheek from the flying glass, and a thin line of blood that makes rage surge through my veins like molten steel.
“Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No. But what…what the hell is going on?”
I help her to her feet slowly, my hands gentler now that the immediate danger has passed. She's shaking, fine tremors running through her body like aftershocks. Her fingers find my chest, clutching at my shirt as if I'm the only solid thing in a world that's suddenly become quicksand.
“Were they trying to kill you?” Her voice cracks on the question.
“No.” I wrap an arm around her, guiding her carefully through the debris toward the door. Glass crunches under our feet, and I make sure to keep my body between her and the shattered window. “They were trying to hurt you.”
Her head whips toward me, her eyes wide with disbelief and dawning horror. Her face goes pale, all the blood draining from her cheeks until she looks like a ghost. She stumbles slightly, and I tighten my grip on her waist, steadying her against me.
“Why?” The word slips out in a raspy whisper.
“Because hurting you hurts me. And right now, hurting me is worth more to certain people than killing me outright.”
She understands now what it means to be connected to someone like me. The danger isn't theoretical anymore. It has teeth and bullets and the willingness to use both.
Lex meets us in the corridor, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled from battle. His shirt is bloodstained at the shoulder where Timur leaned on him for support, and there's a cut above his left eyebrow that he hasn't bothered to clean.
“They wanted to make a statement,” he reports, falling into step beside us as we navigate the hallway.
“They made one,” I reply, my voice carrying the promise of retribution. “Now it's our turn.”
“Where to?” Lex asks, though I suspect he already knows the answer.
“Lake Forest.”
Lex raises an eyebrow, the only sign of surprise he allows himself. “You sure?”
Taking Naomi to the Lake Forest house means admitting that this situation has escalated beyond my ability to control from the estate. It means acknowledging that she's become more than just a convenient wife, more than a piece in the game. It means she's become someone worth protecting at any cost.
“She's not safe here. Not anymore.”
Ten minutes later, we're in an armored SUV, roaring away from the estate. The vehicle is a fortress on wheels, with bulletproof glass and reinforced steel that could withstand a rocket launcher. Naomi sits beside me, processing what just happened, trying to fit it into the framework of the life she thought she was living.
Her arms are folded defensively, but her body leans unconsciously toward mine, seeking warmth and comfort even as her mind rejects the reality of what I am. The contradiction fascinates me. She should be running or demanding that I let her go. Instead, she stays close enough that I can smell her perfume over the scent of gunpowder that clings to my clothes.
“This is who you really are,” she murmurs, not quite a question.
“Part of it,” I offer.
“The dangerous part,” she notes.
