Page 49 of Tangled In Vengeance

He’s calm, eerie in precision, even as he multitasks by shouting into his phone. “We’re being attacked.”

The line goes dead with urgency, his voice now a directive just for me. “Stay here and stay down.”

As he moves away, phantom-like among the screams and shattering glass, the gunfire persists like a relentless storm. My heart feels like it's trying to escape. It's a wild thing inside my chest, pounding against the bone cage imprisoning it. It's hard to breathe, each inhale sharp and ragged as I try to remain as silent as death. The irony is not lost on me. Fear clutches at my throat, a tangible thing that makes swallowing impossible. The harsh staccato of gunfire is the only measure of time now, each shot echoing the rapid thrum of my pulse.

Terror grips me, a visceral and primal force, urging me to run, hide, escape. But I'm paralyzed, my body unresponsive under the weight of fear. Jacob’s presence is both a comfort and a reminder of how dire the situation is. My mind frantically races. Snapshots of Damien, of laughing with Seraphina, of anything and everything dear flash before my eyes while the awful thought that I might never get to see them again claws through the fog of my terror.

Amid the terror, a wail pierces my focus. A kid, small, too young for such horror, is curled under a table corner, eyes big with fear.

“Just stay there,” I shout in a voice strained with a more protective instinct than I've ever known.

Then, agony slices across my arm. My hand comes away painted in red, and the room spins slightly. Looking up, the specter of death is there with a gun pointing at my head. It’s Jacob who cuts the final string of the gunman's intent. He collapses, and I'm yanked back harshly to the cold tiles. My heart thrashes against my ribs, every spark of pain from my bleeding arm a stark reminder of life, of the thin thread we're hanging by.

Jacob's fingers work furiously, ejecting the spent magazine and slamming a fresh one into the grip with practiced ease. He raises the gun, sights down the barrel, and fires with a methodical rhythm that belies the chaos. Bullets find their marks in a grim ballet, adding to the chaos that seems to stretch the seconds into lifetimes.

He moves slightly to shield my body with his own, a living barrier between me and the hail of lead. His arm muscles tense with each recoil, the signs of strain the only evidence that he's as human as I am among this insanity.

The barrage intensifies around us. Like more people joined the fray. It sounds like it's raining bullets, relentless and thunderous. I feel the vibration as each one hits. Among the terror, Jacob exhales in relief as the tension in his jaw eases.

"Help's here," he grunts, more to himself than to me.

I dare to raise my head and peer through the chaos. Damien is here, and he’s the embodiment of retribution, with a gun in each hand. He moves with a lethal grace, his determination carved into the lines of his face. As he advances, each motion is fluid and deliberate, his presence a storm of vengeance against those who dare threaten us.

I watch, oddly detached, as the man I know so intimately transforms into a warrior, a beast in human form. His eyes, usually deep with complexity, are single-minded now. They contain no fear, only the clear intent to annihilate any threat that stands in his way. He's a striking image, like something from a visceral dream. Terrifying in power and hypnotizing in focus. Every takedown is swift, rooted in a primal instinct to protect and serve justice.

Then, as quickly as the chaos erupted, silence fell, heavy and absolute. Damien stands among the stillness, his chest heaving, guns lowered, as a guardian cloaked in the dust of turmoil. I see him clearly. He is not just a protector or a beast. He is the devil.

"Bella!" his voice cuts through the aftermath, urgent and laced with fear. "Where are you, baby?"

I try to respond, but the words get lost in a throat dry with dust and terror.

Jacob rises slightly, and his voice is a beacon of our location. "We're over here, boss."

I stand shaky on my feet as Damien materializes from the settling debris with his eyes scanning me and searching for harm.

His hands are on me, strong and reassuring. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

I stand here like a rag doll in the aftermath as Damien’s hands roam over me with frenetic energy. His fingers are meticulous in their search, skimming over every inch to ensure no harm has come to me beyond the terror etched into my eyes.

The intensity in his gaze holds me captive, and I realize that the man before me, the one who has just wrenched us from the jaws of death, is fueled by a fear of losing something. Me. His touch is both frantic and gentle, a contrast that sums up the chaos we've been through. His hands eventually steady, grounding us both in the reality that I am, for the most part, unharmed.

"I'm okay. I—" I want to say I'm fine, but as he touches my arm, the world tilts at an odd angle. His fingers come away stained with a startling crimson, and my heart drops.

The searing pain shoots through my arm, unrelenting and sharp, breaking through the numbness that had cloaked it. I can feel the heat of my blood as it trickles down my cold sweat-soaked skin. My head feels light, and those menacing black dots begin to swim across my vision, threatening to pull me into darkness. I grip Damien's arm, seeking an anchor to tether me to consciousness, trying to stay grounded in the midst of my fear and the pain that claws at my senses.

"It's a graze, Bella. You've been shot," his voice is calm, but his eyes betray the fierce protectiveness that always simmers below the surface.

"Damien, I think I'm going to..." The words trail off as my grip on reality loosens as I fight to stay awake.

Adrenaline wanes, leaving behind a bone-deep ache and a lightheadedness that has my knees buckling. The last thing I see before everything goes dark is the worry etched on Damien's face as he reaches to catch me. "Stay with me, Bella."

21

CHAPTER 21

Damien

My boots tap an impatient rhythm on the sterile linoleum as I pace back and forth like a caged animal. Anger courses through me. Hot, unyielding, and demanding action. In the silence of the waiting room, my voice comes out as a low growl, barely audible.

---