Chapter 56 Lachlan
LACHLAN
I hadn’t felt my heart beat this way since my first major league game. But this wasn’t a game. This was worse. Natasha’s broken whisper from after Valentine’s hung in the air.
The fake Italian thrashed in my grip, trying to claw the rope from his throat. I dug my boots into the floor and snarled, dragging him back. He rammed an elbow into my ribs. Pain cracked sharp through me. Didn’t matter.
Couldn’t matter.
I’d let him out of my sight once. Let him live to terrorize and pillage another day.
And I couldn’t let the pain bother me.
I would not lose this fight. Not to him. Not today.
Lorenzo surged, throwing his head back, skull smashing into my brow. White burst into my vision. My grip slipped. He spun, feral, throwing a jab. I ducked—dove my fist into his ribs. Felt cartilage shift.
He lunged again. I blocked, forearm to forearm; the jolt numbed my arm. He kicked my knee, and I buckled. Twisting into it, I dragged him down. We hit the wood floor. His hands clawed for my eyes. Mine for his throat.
“She will be mine!” His knuckles crashed against my lip, splitting it.
“Never!” I slammed my forehead against his.
Nose cracked, blood sprayed from Lorenzo.
He laughed, laughed through it. The sick bastard. His fist landed on my cheekbone, hot shock blinding me for a second. But I shifted weight, rolled us, pinning him beneath me.
He wriggled, slippery with sweat and blood, snarling like an animal. His hand darted for a fallen pistol—an empty click. He was out.
It came down to this. Him. Me. Bare hands.
He drove his knee into my gut. I grunted, hammering my elbows into his jaw. Once. Twice. His head snapped back. Still, he came at me, teeth bared, spittle flying. His fingers clawed my throat.
I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Training and fury fused into instinct. I twisted, shoved the rope back around his neck, my forearms locked like iron. I pulled. Harder. Harder.
He thrashed, fists raining wild blows against my head and shoulders. I tightened. Every ounce of strength in me poured into it. His face reddened, purpled. His movements slowed.
Then—stilled.
I didn’t release. Not until the monster who had haunted Natasha drew his last breath.
The rope slackened. My chest heaved. My mouth pooled with blood, vision spinning. My knuckles were raw. My body was wrecked. But she was alive.
And she was watching. I had killed for her.