Page 185 of The Consequences of Love and Vengeance

“You get to take credit for finding the kidnapped Acerbi baby. I’m making you a fucking hero, so shut the fuck up, Houston. You should thank me.”

Diaz steps several feet away from me, taking a tall stance. He’s on guard.

Does that mean he doesn’t trust Houston?

He shouldn’t. Dirty cops don’t have loyalty. They are only out for themselves.

“I’ll thank you when she’s dead.”

Houston moves forward, walking toward me with purpose. Dread washes over me, knowing he’s about to do something I can’t do anything to stop.

And I’m right. He smiles down, showing his “I’ve just won” look before bending and running his hand up my thigh, and then he forces my legs apart.

He’s stronger than I am, so no matter how hard I try to keep them together, it’s no use. He cups me between the legs, squeezing to the point of sheer pain. I gasp, baring my teeth at him.

“Get your hand—”

My words are interrupted by the blast of a gunshot. I’m startled at first, not knowing where it came from. Then I see blood pouring out of Lance’s shoulder.

“Arghhh,” Houston yells out in pain.

He turns, facing away from me and revealing another hole with blood streaming out of it. It’s the entry wound, making the one on his front side the exit wound. Houston was towering over me, so that shot could have easily hit me in the face had it been a few inches to his left.

“What the... You shot me, motherfucker,” he hisses through his teeth, grabbing his shoulder.

“You, nor anyone else, is allowed to touch my property. She”—he swings the gun, pointing it at me—“is mine. Only I get to touch her unless I want someone else to lay a hand on her. And I can assure you, cop, that isn’t you. Touch my shit again, and it’ll be a bullet between your eyes.”

Another blast goes off, but it doesn’t come from the gun Sebastian Diaz is waving around. The shot pierces Houston’s side, taking him down to the ground. He curses, yelling in pain and agony with an ashen look on his face.

Diaz stills, looking at me for a split second before muttering a curse of his own. Then he turns, running toward the open bay door, escaping

No.

He can’t get away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone running toward me. That’s when I see Drago. He’s the one who shot Houston.

What is he doing here?

How is he here?

Did Diaz set him up to come here too, to walk into a trap like I did?

“Drago?” I yell.

Without saying anything, he falls to his knees beside me. Moments later, both of my wrists are free of restraints, and I hop out of the chair, nearly falling over Lance to get away from the spot I was being held captive.

Drago grabs me, pulling me away from Houston’s still body.

“What are you doing here?” I can’t help but ask.

His fingers thread my hair, cupping the back of my head. Then his lips crash down on mine, taking them in a rushed and panicked state.

“I fucking lost it when that motherfucker touched you. Then when that shot was fired, I thought—”

“D, I’m okay. I’ll think about that later. I have to get Diaz before he gets away.”

“We,” he corrects. “Here. Take this.” He produces a Glock from behind his back.

---