Page 22 of Unholy Night
"I studied law to stop people like you," I say, practicing the reload, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. His hips against my backside, the solid wall of his chest.
"And now?"
"Now I reload your weapons while you kill them." The admission makes something dark unfurl in my chest, spreading through my veins like poison I've learned to crave. "Now I want to be the weapon you aim."
His hands tighten on the rifle. For a moment, we're frozen like that. Him wrapped around me, bodies pressed together, breathing synchronized. Then he spins me suddenly, pressing me against the weapons rack. Metal cold against my back, his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss is violent, desperate, all teeth and claiming. His hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back to deepen the angle. I taste blood. His or mine, I don't know. Don't care. All that matters is the solid weight of him against me, the promise of what comes after we survive this.
He growls wordlessly against my lips, then pulls away, leaving me gasping. "Stay alive. We finish this after."
Upstairs, Leonardo has made it inside, trailing blood and chaos. He's still laughing, even with what looks like a serious wound in his shoulder.
"Been years since someone had the balls to come at us directly," he says, grinning through the pain. "Merry fucking Christmas, cousin."
Tomas doesn't return the smile. "How many?"
"Twenty? Thirty? They brought an army." Leonardo starts loading a fresh magazine, blood making his fingers slip. "Good. I was getting bored."
"You're insane," I tell him.
Leonardo looks at me properly for the first time, taking in my bare legs, Tomas's shirt hanging to my thighs, the gun in my hands. "You're the prosecutor. The one hunting us."
"Was," I correct, checking the rifle's chamber. "Now I'm something else."
His grin widens. "Oh, at least she’s interesting, Tomas. That's rare. That's fucking precious." He winces, pressing against his shoulder wound. "Still going to have to die though."
More gunfire outside. Closer now. They're tightening the noose.
"Take position upstairs," Tomas orders me. "East window. Call out what you see."
I should argue. Should demand to stay with him. But this is his world, his rules, and right now following orders keeps us alive. I head for the stairs, but his hand catches my wrist.
"Natalie." Just my name, but weighted with everything we can't say right now.
"Don't you dare die on me," I tell him.
"Same to you."
Upstairs, I take position at the window. Through the scope, I count bodies, positions, movement patterns. My voice stays steady as I relay information, even as my finger finds the trigger again and again. Each shot I take is one less threat to him. Each kill makes me less of who I was and more of what he needs.
"Three more, northwest corner," I call out. "Moving away, looks like they're falling back…"
Leonardo's scream cuts through everything. Not pain. Rage. Through the window, I see him charging directly at a cluster of soldiers, firing wildly. It's suicide. It's insane. It's going to get him killed.
Tomas sees it too. I watch him make the choice. Pursue fleeing enemies or save his cousin who brought this violence to our door. Family wins. It always wins with him.
He breaks cover, sprinting toward Leonardo. Immediately, three soldiers pivot toward him, rifles rising.
No.
I don't remember making the decision to move. One moment I'm at the window, the next I'm on the porch, rifle snapping to my shoulder. The world narrows to breath and heartbeat and trigger pull.
The first soldier drops before he can fire. The second manages one shot, wide, panicked, before my bullet finds his throat. The third turns toward me, and I see his eyes widen. Maybe he recognizes me.
I put a bullet between those wide eyes without hesitation.
Tomas reaches Leonardo, who's taken another hit, this one to the leg. Together they fall back toward the cabin while I cover them, the rifle kicking against my shoulder again and again. Each shot is a prayer, a promise, a declaration.
