26. NIKOLAI
Chapter twenty-six
L yla dropped like dead weight.
When I caught her, her fingers curled into my shirt—clutching me like a lifeline. I didn’t waste time checking her over. Her limbs trembled in adrenaline-laced panic, so I headed straight for the exit that led out to the back alley.
DarkMatter soldiers swarmed, igniting chaos. Shouts, screams, and gunfire came from every direction. Smoke bled from the rafters as fires were set all over the building. My men would raze this place.
I turned, shielding her body with mine, and sprinted through the hallway.
Rory was already at the rear exit, holding the door open with one arm. He kept his gun raised, aiming for anyone who might dare get in our way.
Shots cracked behind us, and Henri and a couple of others returned fire.
I moved quickly, holding Lyla securely against my chest. Her bare thighs were clenched together. This had to be humiliating for her, which made my blood boil. I’d also noticed that one of those bastards had clawed her.
Fuck!
I wanted to kill every single one of those men who’d come here thinking they could buy a goddamn human being or watch the spectacle like it was a sporting event.
Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of Henri struggling three steps behind us, one hand clamped to his shoulder, blood pouring through his fingers. Two of our men flanked him, returning fire as Delgado’s reinforcements flooded the hallway behind us.
“Julian, Lachlan—get to the alley now!” I barked into the comms. “Henri’s hit. Bleeding like hell.”
“We’re already here,” Lachlan replied. “Julian and I got the alley covered.”
“Take Henri to the safe house near Teterboro,” I instructed. “DarkMatter’s med team knows the location.”
Lachlan snorted. “Yeah, I remember it. Last time you almost bled out on your backseat with a bullet to the thigh, remember? Ruined your fancy leather.”
I huffed. “Still have nerve pain, thanks to that. Bullet went clean through my leg, ruining tattoos on both sides. Had to get creative with redesigning them to fit the scar.”
Lachlan chuckled. “Only you would find a scrap of humor in this shitshow.”
Rory remained at the door just long enough for me to shove through.
Then we darted down the steps and hit the alley running.
The cold slapped my face, and smoke wafted around us from the fire that now licked at the roof of the building.
Rory stayed just ahead of us, sweeping left and right to ensure a clear path.
My boots pounded the pavement, and my arms stayed locked around Lyla.
She still held my shirt in a death grip.
Wearing nothing but that tiny excuse for a top, she was fucking freezing, but she didn’t say a word. She merely trembled violently.
I glanced down to find her gaze locked on me. Her pupils were blown wide open. Her vacant eyes were too wide in shock, fear, and trauma. Every nerve she had was maxed out, and now all she could do was cling to me.
The SUV was parked just outside the alleyway. Rory yanked the door open and turned to face the building, gun raised, eyes scanning every inch of our surroundings.
Another DarkMatter car skidded around the corner, tires screeching to a halt.
There was movement behind us.
“Two behind you!” Rory shouted.
I turned in time to see smoke pour from the exit door. Two of Delgado’s soldiers stepped into view, their weapons raised.
Rory shifted, took aim, and dropped one and then the other. This kind of situation was when his special forces training surfaced. He was cold, precise, and lethal.
I swung Lyla into the backseat and growled, “Buckle up.”
Just as Lachlan opened the back door of the DarkMatter car for Henri, another man stepped from the shadows of the street, leveling his gun at him.
I fired.
One shot to the chest, and he dropped.
Henri reached the car and collapsed into the backseat. Lachlan and Julian both darted toward the passenger side, jumped in, and slammed the doors shut. The driver peeled out, and they sped off.
Rory was already in the driver’s seat by the time I slid into the passenger seat of my SUV.
“Drive,” I ordered.
Rory didn’t hesitate. We tore down the street as sirens screamed in the distance.
Behind us, fire bloomed from the roof of The Sacrifice.
“Seatbelt,” I snapped, twisting toward the back.
Lyla hadn’t moved.
She stared straight ahead, chest heaving in fast, shallow bursts.
“Lyla. Look at me.”
She didn’t.
I reached back and yanked the belt across her body. She flinched, then snatched it and buckled it herself.
“Good girl,” I muttered, turning back around.
The place on my side that had been grazed by a bullet stung. Hot blood soaked into the fabric, warm and wet—but it was a shallow wound. I’d live. I couldn’t ever seem to wear a tactical shirt more than once anyway. They always ended up with at least one hole.
I looked in the visor mirror.
Lyla had one leg crossed tightly over the other, and her body was twisted in her seat, practically curled up against the door. Her skin was covered in goose bumps, her makeup was smudged, and bruises were blooming on her thighs.
Jesus Christ.
My jaw clenched so hard it felt like my teeth would crack.
Delgado had taken her.
Paraded her. Auctioned her.
Let men paw at her.
And I hadn’t ended him. Not yet.
But I would.
I would rip every inch of his empire apart until there was nothing left but ash, and then I’d torture and murder him. It was the least I could do to a man with no code of honor.
It didn’t take long to reach my building. We had looped wide, taken two different turns through Midtown, and changed lanes often enough that I was confident we hadn’t been followed. My penthouse was the safest place in the city, and for now, it was the only place to keep her protected.
The SUV rumbled into the underground garage. Rory glided to a halt right outside the elevator entryway. I stepped out and opened the rear door. Lyla hadn’t moved.
She remained curled up in the seat, arms wrapped tight around her middle, pale and apprehensive. Her eyes tracked me, but she didn’t speak. She hadn’t made a sound since she had fallen from the rigging like some goddamn broken angel.
I crouched and unbuckled her seat belt.
“Come here,” I said softly, sliding my arms beneath her.
She didn’t fight it.
She barely even breathed.
I lifted her into my arms, careful to angle her body toward my chest, shielding her exposed body as best I could. Rory and the others would guard the perimeter and wrap up the scene. As for me, I had one mission—protect her.
The elevator opened the moment I scanned my biometrics.
We rose fast.
She still didn’t make a sound.
By the time I carried her into the penthouse, her teeth were chattering from the cold night air and the terror she’d just witnessed. The place was quiet. I stepped past the security foyer, past the living room and bar, and headed toward the guest suite on the other side of the apartment.
I went straight into the en suite bathroom and set her gently on the marble vanity. She wobbled slightly but stayed upright, her arms still clutching her middle. I moved to the towel rack, grabbed one, and returned to her.
Gently, I draped it over her lap, covering her as best I could.
Her eyes never left me.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered.
She blinked once.
I crouched in front of her, then pushed the towel up just enough to see her inner thigh.
Fuck.
There was a claw mark, red and raw, with dried blood smeared halfway down her leg. Someone had grabbed her there, dug their fingers in like she was nothing but prey.
I schooled my features to avoid frightening her any further as the pulse in my throat throbbed. No man would ever lay hands on her again. Not ever.
Every inch of her flawless skin was mine to protect.
I reached for the first aid kit in the drawer under the counter and pulled out a sterile cloth and some antiseptic.
When I turned back, her legs were tense.
“I’m just going to clean it,” I said, crouching down. “That’s all.”
She flinched slightly when I shifted the towel higher, but she didn’t pull away.
I cleaned the wound with slow, gentle pressure, wiping around the torn skin first, then directly over it. She winced and gripped the counter beneath her but said nothing.
The cut was superficial. Thankfully it wouldn’t need stitches.
Still, it made me want to put a bullet through every man who’d touched her—at least any of those not already dead and frying as the club burned to the ground.
When I finished, I stood and gently cupped her cheeks. “Time for a hot bath and a long soak. It’ll help.”
She remained perched on the vanity, mostly covered by the towel, hands folded in her lap, watching me.
I turned the knobs and filled the tub, adding a generous dose of lavender-scented Epsom salts. The calming aroma filled the room quickly. I laid two fresh towels nearby and dimmed the lights a notch.
She hadn’t looked away from me once.
I leaned in and braced my hands on either side of her legs.
“Can you take it from here?” I asked. “Or do you need help getting in?”
Her lashes fluttered. Her gaze finally broke away from mine.
“I can do it,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
I nodded and turned to leave.
“Wait!” she called out.
I turned back.
She slipped off the counter and rushed forward, the towel falling to the floor. Her arms wrapped around my waist, and she buried her face in my chest.
I froze, then carefully patted her back.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said with a sniff. “If you hadn’t come…they would have sold me. I—I would’ve been gone. Some monster’s property.” Her voice cracked.
I remained still, because I didn’t trust myself to hold her any tighter.
She didn’t belong in my world.
She deserved a knight.
Not a killer in the shadows.
But, fuck me, I wanted her.
Right then. Right there.
My hands were stained with blood, but all I wanted was to put them on her. Claim her. Take what was mine.
Her innocence and vulnerability made me weak in a way I hated. As I looked at the towel at her feet, felt her bare skin pressed against me, and inhaled the scent of her, the edges of my control started to fray.
I should’ve stepped away the second her arms started to wrap around me.
But I didn’t.
Because a dark part of me—the bratva-born part—wanted to mark her. Ruin her.
A coldhearted man who ruled with fear didn’t open the door to tenderness.
A ruthless man took what he wanted without care.
And when fate dropped a girl like her into his arms—naked, trembling, trusting? When there was a beautiful woman at his mercy? He took what was offered.
But I wasn’t that man.
I clenched my jaw.
She was dangerous to me in all the best ways.
And I was poison to her.
I gently pulled away.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” I said, “making something to eat. Any allergies?”
She blinked. “No.” Then she turned back toward the tub, her shoulders slumping.
I shut the door behind me and glanced down. There was blood staining my sleeves, smeared down my forearm, and splattered across the front of my shirt. I looked like a goddamn butcher.
First things first—I needed a shower. The bullet had only grazed my side. Nothing serious, but it still needed to be cleaned.
I turned down the hallway and headed for my bedroom.