Chapter 28 Dante
Dante
When the first bomb hit, my pulse skyrocketed.
Adrenaline flooded my veins, and I couldn't hear a word of what Melnyk said.
I leaped from my chair and ran to the door, just as the security slats descended automatically.
My knuckles are bloody and raw. My throat is scratchy and hoarse.
The medical staff keeps trying to persuade me into their bomb shelter—because, of course, The Eligos had a bomb shelter built into her med bay—but they can fuck right off.
My wife is out there. I have no idea if she's alive. I can't see her. I can't hear her. I can't fucking get to her.
I think I can hear her screaming, maybe Helena too—but she can't hear me.
Not over the blaring sirens. And definitely not through the onslaught.
The earth beneath my feet trembles and heaves, like it might buckle and suck me down to hell.
Honestly, a world without Melody is hell.
If Ella takes her from me—not just in some prison, not some underground bunker, but really takes her from me—I may follow her.
And I swear, if a single hair on Melody's head—or those two babies in her belly—has even a scratch? I'm going to rain fire down upon Ella. Newly found status as Nephilim be damned and fucked sideways.
From the corner of my eye, I see a medical cart that toppled over in the blast. Stainless steel scissors glint on the floor—I snatch them up, hacking at the security gate.
If I can just pry it loose from its groove in the floor, I can batter my way to the hall.
I can get to my wife. I can fucking save my wife.
As I work to pry the metal from the floor, another blast hits the building—rocking me to my core, throwing me off my balance, and slicing my thumb open with those fucking scissors.
The sirens cut off—they must have damaged the alarm system.
All I can hear is the low rumbling from the blast. I hear the panicked whimpering of the medical staff.
They left the shelter hatch cracked for me if I change my mind.
Not a fucking chance. Not a single chance am I crawling into that hole without Melody.
Another wave of kinetic energy rolls through the earth. White tiles fall from the wall and shatter. Blood drips from my thumb, mingling with sweat and concrete dust. My ears pop and ring—I can't hear a sound. I can only feel rhythmic pounding through vibrations in the floor.
Someone's trying to force their way in. This isn't just an air strike for the sake of destroying the facility. This is a capture mission.
"Lock the fucking hatch!" I bellow, hacking at the security gate again. "Lock it! They're trying to get in!"
I don't know if they heard me—I can barely hear myself. But the hatch falls flush with the floor, entirely hidden by the interlocking white tile. It's as if it were never there at all. Good.
Grunting, I push myself from the floor. Blood still oozes from my thumb.
The security gate remains firmly wedged into its groove in the floor, but based on the pounding from outside…
that might not be a problem for much longer.
Fuck, I need a gun. I need a weapon. I need something.
The Eligos's people are always armed, but they didn't think to give me—or Melody, for that matter—anything?
I'm going to have a serious talk with that woman.
Gratitude towards her hospitality only goes so far, and now that I'm fucking unarmed with the Seraph bearing down on us…
shit. Exasperatedly, I swipe away the sweat beading on my forehead.
And completely forget about the concrete dust that's now stinging the shit out of my thumb.
"Fuck!" I hate this. I can't get out. I can't get to Melody. I don't have a goddamn gun. All I can find is a scalpel and a few packs of blades. Fuck. I guess it'll have to do.
The moment I pocket the scalpel, a piercing scream shatters the air. "Melody!"
My adrenaline spikes, and the wall crumbles in a flurry of cement and tile. Overlapping voices shout over each other, and I find myself on the business end of a rifle.
"No. No, you can't do this," I whisper.
The wielder cocks their head to the side. They're covered in body armor and desert camo. I can see myself in the reflection of their helmet visor, and I look positively unhinged. Good. If I can strike fear into this person, whoever they are, my chances of survival increase.
"Dantalion?" Ah, it's a man. His voice is rough, like he's smoked a few packs a day for the past five years.
"And if I am?"
"Where is your wife? The Nephilim was very clear. You are a bonus, but she is the target." He flicks the safety off of his gun, aiming it directly at my head. Cold sweat gathers on the back of my neck.
Maybe it's time to be stupid. "She can't show up herself, huh? She sent you? If Melody is the target, why isn't Ella here herself?"
He doesn't respond. He just cocks his gun and motions behind him—to the gaping hole in the wall. "You can come quietly or not at all."
Fuck. My pulse rushes in my ears. I don't care if I die, but Melody… actually, I do care if I die. I can't leave her alone. I can't leave her here with my two kids. She needs me. I need her. And god, those babies are going to need me.
"Fine." I raise my hands in surrender and slowly walk toward the hole. Another soul-shattering scream rings out, and I fucking panic—I sprint. I sprint out into the surrounding jungle, toward the sound of my wife's agony and anguish, completely forgetting the man with a gun at my back.
"Melody! Where are you? What are they doing?" I shout into the wind.
"Dante! Help!" It's not Melody—it's Helena. Oh, fuck.
"Hey!" the Seraph soldier yells. "Get the fuck back here!"
He's not shooting—that's a good sign. I'm not as indispensable as he made me out to be.
Paying him no mind, I sprint toward the sound of my wife's guard.
Dodging tree branches and low-lying brush, I burst into a small clearing where my wife—my fucking wife—is on her knees, hands behind her head, tears streaming down her face.
Helena lies on the ground next to her, hands zip-tied behind her back. More armed men stand around them, pointing guns at my vicious wife.
One man turns to face me, pointing his rifle directly at my head. "Stop."
The calmness in his voice startles me, and though I don't want to, I skid to a halt. Panting heavily, I glare at the man and clench my fists.
"What's Ella doing here, huh?" I snarl. "Why is she sending you? Why not her?"
"She thought it was time for a family reunion." The man shrugs and removes his helmet. I don't recognize him. He's obviously a tall white guy, but who the hell is he? He has angular features and sandy brown hair. Blue eyes glower at Melody. His cheeks are pitted with old acne scars.
"Phil?" Melody whimpers. "Oh, god."
Phil… Phil? Phil Pinelli? Her cousin—the one from the Chicago chapter of the Seraph? I thought he was just a low-level enforcer, someone to clean up their messes.
"Yep." He smirks, tsking. "Oh, cousin. What have you gotten yourself into?"
"Don't fucking touch me, asshole."
"Now, why would I do a disgusting thing like that?" Phil scoffs.
"Your uncle sure didn't know how to keep his hands to himself—I thought maybe it ran in the family," she snarls.
"Uncle Charlie did a lot of things," Phil mumbles. "But I don't think he'd do something like that. Not to you—look at you. You're a fat slob, and you always have been."
I don't know what comes over me. I stomp over to the man and punch him square in the nose, grinning as he falters and clutches his face. And he drops his fucking gun. I snatch the weapon before it can hit the ground, checking that the safety is off and fully loaded.
"Wait, Dante—"
Bang!
Phil Pinelli's forehead explodes in a spray of crimson red and shards of bone. His body falls to the leaf-littered ground, seemingly in slow motion. The other Seraph soldiers whirl around, cocking their rifles. Exhaling, I squeeze the trigger. One of the soldiers drops, but the other fires at me.
At me?
My left bicep stings. With every heartbeat, pain blooms until my arm is a throbbing mess.
My pulse ratchets up another several notches, and something sticky and wet flows down to my elbow.
I can't move my arm. I can't move my arm?
I stare at the appendage as it hangs loosely by my side.
I can't move it. I can't grip the gun. I can only hold onto it with my right hand.
He shot me?
"You fucking shot me?" I roar at the man.
He backs up a few steps but keeps the barrel pointed squarely at me.
Unfortunately for him, he just stepped within kicking range of Helena.
That fantastic woman—the most worthy aunt my kids will ever have—rolls her body around, hands still bound behind her back, and aims a kick squarely at the man's knee.
It crunches. It's a sickening sound, and the look of shock and horror on Helena's face matches my own.
His knee bends backward, and he falls to the side with an agonized moan.
Unfortunately, that puts him within Melody's biting distance.
Pride fills my chest as my feral wife sinks her teeth into the exposed strip of flesh right above the man's boot, where his pant leg rides up.
He howls in pain and scrabbles for his weapon—but Helena is too fast.
Helena rolls on top of the gun. My feet finally allow me to move, and I charge ahead, tackling the man. My arm dangles uselessly at my side, throbbing with pain.
"You killed Phil," Melody mumbles through a grimace.
"I did," I agree, panting heavily and wincing. "We can't rest now—this isn't the last of them, I'm sure."
"Phil's dead," my wife repeats. "He's dead."
"Yes! He's fucking dead!" Helena shouts. "You can't focus on that, babe—we need to waste this guy and fucking move."
Footsteps come pounding from the brush, and the soldier I lost finally makes his reappearance. He takes in the scene around him and visibly flinches.
"Helena," I hiss. "Give me the gun."
She silently rolls over, just enough for me to grab the rifle. Still sitting with my full weight on the other guard's back, I try to use my knee and working arm to aim and fire. Thankfully, he drops with a heavy thud. The man below me starts to hyperventilate and plead for his life.
"Please, man, come on—I don't even care about any of this shit—I just wanted something that paid better than retail security—please, just let me go? I'll leave; you'll never see me again, I promise!"
Shifting to bear down with my knee between his shoulder blades, I push the air from his lungs. I line up the barrel of his gun to the back of his head. This kind of aim is much easier one-armed. "You're right, I won't."
Bang!
"God, that's hot," Melody whimpers. I flash her a smile and wink.
"You guys are perfect for each other. Disgusting but perfect," Helena scoffs. "Get me out of these fucking cuffs."
Right. The zip ties. I toss the gun to the side and dig the scalpel and blades from my pocket.
Ripping open the little foil package is harder than I'd like, and I can't quite figure out how to use it effectively.
Not without slicing my own fingers, that is.
Fuck, I'm glad that man is dead. Shooting me in the arm—the bastard.
"Gimme that," Melody commands. She snatches the scalpel handle and another blade packet from me. She carefully peels the foil down on one side, then expertly slides the blade onto the groove.
"How do you—" I start to ask.
"—my mom was a nurse," Melody interrupts me with a shrug. "You pick things up."
"Great, awesome, love that. Get me the fuck untied," Helena snarls. "We have to get back to Melnyk!"
Guilt squeezes the breath from my lungs. Right. Melnyk. I was so singularly focused on my wife and our babies, I forgot about him entirely. Melody saws at the plastic zip ties until they snap apart, and Helena rotates her arms with a sigh of relief.
"Get back to the medical wing," I instruct her. "They're in a bomb shelter. There's a hatch in the floor—it blends perfectly with the tile. Melody, go with her. I need to take care of the rest."
"Like fuck you're going without me," Melody snaps. "You can't use your arm. Phil's here. Ella is after me. This isn't just about you!"
"You're pregnant with my twins!" I roar. "Melody, I love you, but you're fucking insane if you think I'm going to put all three of you in harm's way. Get to the bomb shelter. Now."
"Come on, babe, let's go—" Helena tries to urge, but Melody shakes her off.
"No. Ella needs to die. Dante, you promised me you'd let me do it.
After this—after all this, I need to. I need to see her dead.
I need to watch her die. I need to know she's dead, and she's never coming back.
" Her voice is lethally calm and even, which scares me more than her frantic energy.
"How are you going to shoot them? Hope you take them by surprise so you can aim a rifle with one hand? No. You need me."
"Fuck," I grunt. I hate to say it, but she's right. My arm is useless. The throbbing pain is slowly morphing into a burning sensation. That can't be good. "Fine. Fine. Helena, back to Melnyk. Melody, you're with me."
My wife giggles gleefully and snatches up the discarded guns. She pops the magazine from Phil's rifle and stuffs it in her pocket. "Just in case."
"You're beautiful when you're murderous," I muse.
"And you're sexy as hell when you're shooting a man point-blank." My wife's smile lights up my heart with a blaze. "Let's go."