Chapter Fourteen
Sophia
Biscayne Park looms ahead, trees crowding together, the night thick with damp earth and the hum of crickets. I press my back to a trunk, bark rough against my skin, one hand clamped over my shoulder. The wound burns hot, a pulse of fire with every breath. Hurts like a bitch—but I’m alive.
If I can make it across the park, to the lights and noise of the streets beyond, maybe I’ll survive. Maybe we both will.
Then the night erupts—gunfire, rapid and relentless, tearing through the quiet. I freeze, pressing myself tighter against the tree, heart hammering. Footsteps follow, pounding the dirt. Someone’s running.
I hold my breath. Please, not them. Please—
Raphael streaks past me, a shadow in motion. Relief bursts in my chest, sharp and overwhelming. “Raphael,” I whisper, soft but desperate.
He stops dead, pivots, then rushes back to me. The next second I’m crushed against him, his arms locking me in, fierce and unyielding. Pain rips through me and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from screaming.
He pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, and his eyes drop to my blouse. Pale pink and white silk, ruined now, the shoulder drenched in a dark, spreading stain. His jaw tightens, fury flashing in his gaze.
I shake my head quickly. “We have to keep going. We need to get to the other side of the park.”
He doesn’t argue, not yet. Instead, he crouches slightly, inspecting the wound, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they press around the torn fabric. His eyes flick back to mine, hard and searching. “Can you run, Princess?”
If I speak, he’ll hear the hesitation, so I just nod.
Raphael’s hand presses firm against the small of my back.
I kick off my shoes, the grass cold under my feet, and we take off—darting through trees and open stretches, lungs burning, hearts pounding.
We don’t stop until the chain-link fence looms ahead, the only thing between us and the street beyond.
Raphael grips the fence and scales it like it’s nothing, every movement smooth, powerful, controlled. Even in the dark, even in the chaos, I can’t help noticing how damn agile he is, how strong. He swings over the top, lands light on his feet, and looks back at me.
I grab the chain-link, metal biting into my palms. My shoulder screams the second I haul myself up, pain white-hot and blinding. For a heartbeat I want to stop, but I grind my teeth, shove the fear down, and keep climbing. Determination is the only thing I have left.
At the top my grip falters. The world tilts. My body pitches forward—falling.
Strong arms catch me before the ground can. Raphael pulls me tight against his chest, lowering me carefully but not letting go. My breath hitches, pain clawing through me, but his hold is steady, unshakable.
Raphael’s arms lock around me, as if I weigh nothing. The world sways, the rhythm of his stride pounding against the chaos still echoing in the cemetery behind us. My head lolls against his chest, the scent of sweat and gunpowder clinging to him, the steady thud of his heart in my ear.
Pain claws through my shoulder, sharp and unrelenting, dragging the edges of my vision into darkness. I try to fight it, try to hold on, but my body betrays me.
The last thing I feel is the strength of his grip and the sound of his breath before everything slips away.