Chapter Twenty
Damien
G unfire. Bullets. Rifles.
They’ve never scared me. I was raised between them, slept through the sound of them, killed with them. I’ve been in the middle of shootouts more times than I can count. But this time?
This time, there’s fear.
For the first time in my life, real, gut-wrenching, soul-crushing fear grips me. Not for myself, I’ve never cared about my own life. But for her. The only thing in this godforsaken world that belongs to me. The only one I love. I would die for her. I would kill for her. I will rip the world apart for her.
"Get down!"
My voice is pure command as I shove Margaret under one of the tables, dragging her frail body further in. Amelia is beneath me, crushed under my weight, but I don't move. I don’t give her space to breathe because if a bullet is coming, it will find me first. I press her into the ground, covering every inch of her, my body shielding hers like a living bulletproof vest.
She’s shaking. My girl is scared.
"Breathe, baby. I’ve got you. I swear on everything that bleeds, I’ll teach these fuckers what it means to put what’s mine in danger."
The bullets keep flying, glass shattering around us.
Then silence.
I lift my head.
They're gone.
I push myself off Amelia instantly. My hands roam over her body, searching for any sign of blood.
"Tell me you're okay," I demand. "Tell me you're not hurt."
"I-I'm fine."
I need to see her eyes. Need to see for myself that she’s not lying just to stop me from losing my mind.
But she looks over at Margaret first and pales.
She’s lying in a pool of blood.
Amelia rushes to her side, pressing her hands to the wound on her stomach.
"Margaret, please, stay with me. Keep your eyes open, okay?"
I tear my gaze from Amelia; just for a second. The smell of gunpowder and death clings to the air. The restaurant is in chaos. People from nearby shops rush in, screaming, calling for help.
But a masked man outside catches my eye. He’s dressed in all black, his hands trembling. A gun peeks from the waistband of his jeans.
One of them is still outside.
I grab Amelia’s face and crush my mouth against hers in a brutal, claiming kiss. Then I growl, "Put pressure on her wound. I’ll be back."
"Damien—don’t—"
She wails as I pull away. But I don’t stop.
Someone tried to take what’s mine. And now? I’m going to take everything from him.
I break into a sprint, my blood boiling over. The bastard sees me. He fucking sees me and runs.
He bolts through the alley, his feet slamming against the pavement, but I’m faster. I was raised on blood and violence. Raised to hunt. Raised to kill.
He turns a corner. I turn with him.
He jumps over a fence. I scale it.
He makes the mistake of looking back.
I lunge.
I yank him back so hard he stumbles. Before he can recover, I slam him into the nearest wall. He groans. I don’t give a fuck. I grab the back of his head and smash it again. And again. And again. Until he’s barely conscious, slumping in my grip like a ragdoll.
Then I pull my gun, pressing the barrel to his forehead.
"You picked the wrong fucking man to pull this shit on," I growl, pressing harder. "You have two seconds to tell me who sent you before I paint this wall with your fucking brain."
His pupils are blown wide. He tries to form words, and I cock the gun.
"One."
His mouth opens.
"Two—"
I rip the mask from his face. That’s when I realize I fucked up. It’s a fucking ploy. A distraction.
This is one of Richard’s men. I’ve seen him a shit ton of times. Which means Linda planned all this.
Linda that has her eyes set on my girl.
Fuck.
How could I have been so stupid? He was planted outside for a reason.
Linda wanted me to run. To leave.
Amelia.
My whole body goes cold.
I let go of him instantly, his body hitting the pavement like a sack of meat. I shoot him in the head. He doesn’t matter anymore.
I turn and run back; faster than I’ve ever run before.
My lungs burn, my chest crushing in on itself, my vision going black around the edges. My gun is still in my hand, my fingers twitching around the trigger.
If I get back there and something happened to her—
If she’s hurt—
If she’s gone—
I will burn the whole world to nothing but ash.
I shove past the bodies crowding the restaurant.
"Amelia!"
My voice rips through the air, raw, desperate, unhinged.
No answer.
I’m going fucking insane.
I spot Margaret on a stretcher. They’re wheeling her toward the ambulance, her apron soaked in blood, her wrinkled hands shaking. But it’s not the wound that has her face twisted in terror. It’s something worse.
The second she sees me, she lunges, her bloody fingers grabbing my arm in an iron grip.
"Damien," she gasps. "Damien, they took her."
Everything inside me stills.
"You need to save her," she sobs, clenching onto me as the paramedics try to pull her away. She won’t let go. She’s fighting them with the little power she has left.
"She was screaming for you," Margaret cries. "Screaming for you, Damien." Her voice breaks. "They took her to Hell."
The paramedics yank her from me. The doors slam shut.
Hell.
I know where that is.
I’m already heading to my car.
They think they took her.
They don’t know—
I’m bringing hell to them.