21. Chapter Twenty One #3
I hear a pained grunt moments before a hard body slams into mine, taking us both down to the ground. The impact forces the air from my lungs. My head cracks against the tiles, stars bursting across my vision as the weight of another body shields mine completely.
Warmth.
Heavy.
Breathing.
I gasp, looking up and finding the agonised expression of Sasha looming over me. His jaw is clenched so tightly I think he might shatter his own teeth. His breathing becomes ragged, uneven bursts, every exhale laced with barely restrained pain.
I look down at his arm, finding blood already covering the suit jacket he had worn to the game tonight. Bright red blooms across the dark fabric, spreading faster than I can comprehend. It drips from his sleeve onto my dress, warm against my skin.
No.
No, no, no.
Not him.
It was supposed to be me. Not him.
“Sasha!” I scream, moving him until he can lie on the tiles. My hands shake so violently I almost drop him. I reach to grab the tea towel off the oven handle, pressing it tightly against the wound. Blood immediately soaks through the fabric, warm and slick beneath my useless, trembling hands.
“Baby… Please. Tell me you’re okay,” Sasha asks, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard before. “The gun shot.”
His eyes rake frantically over my face, my chest, my arms, searching for injuries before he even looks at himself.
“I’m fine. I’m not hurt. But… Sasha… You’ve been shot!” I cry out, watching as his blood soaks through the tea towel.
It isn’t stopping.
No matter how hard I press, the blood keeps coming.
Panic claws at my throat, my lungs splintered by the agony of what I’m seeing.
No. Please not him.
Grunting and a few choice curses from beside us drag my attention to where Dominic has Brett’s feet pinned to the ground.
His grip is ironclad, his expression devoid of anything remotely human.
Holden is raining down hit after hit after hit on the man, each punch harder than the last, years of anger and helplessness pouring out of him in brutal, unforgiving blows.
With a bellow, I launch to my feet, pushing Holden off him with every ounce of strength I have left. He stumbles backwards, his chest heaving, his knuckles split open and dripping blood onto the kitchen tiles. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with rage I have never witnessed before.
“What the fuck?” he asks, his voice raw as he looks at me in disbelief.
“No! He doesn’t get the fucking easy way out!” I point at Brett with a trembling hand, every inch of me shaking from adrenaline, fear and fury. “You don’t get to take his death from me, Holden.”
Not after my parents. Not after the grief this man had caused my family. Not after the way he spoke about my mother and not after Sasha.
He doesn’t get mercy.
Brett’s breathing becomes frantic, his smugness evaporates from his face. His eyes dart between us for the first time since pulling the trigger. The trigger that might have just cost my Alpha’s life. He’s afraid.
He should be.
Holden’s eyes widen, understanding crossing his rabid expression, before he nods, his eyes flicking from me, then to an almost feral Dominic. He hides it well, but there is nothing but pure, unadulterated fury dancing across his features as he eyeballs the man who tried to destroy our pack.
Slowly, Holden wipes Brett’s blood that had splattered across his face with the back of his hand, before turning, looking only at Dominic.
“Know a place?” he says between heavy breaths, but Dominic doesn’t falter. There isn't an ounce of remorse on his face. Just cold, calculated certainty. His grip tightens around Brett’s wrists until the older man cries out in pain. Brett begins to struggle.
“Please…” he chokes, his voice cracking for the first time tonight. “Please, don’t!”
I barely hear him. Everything inside me is still screaming at me to get back to Sasha. To stop the bleeding. To keep him breathing.
The floor is already covered in a pool of crimson as he lies there. My stomach twists at the sight. He took a bullet meant for me. He put himself in harm's way for me.
Dominic finally nods. He doesn’t spare me a glance.
He already knows where my attention belongs.
Instead, he reaches down, tangling one hand in Brett’s expensive suit jacket before hauling him effortlessly to his feet.
Brett stumbles, his legs barely able to support his own weight, his breathing coming in ragged, panicked gasps.
Dominic steps into his space until only inches separate them. His expression never changes. There is no sympathy. There’s nothing more than the cold-bloodied inferno threatening to erupt from beneath his calm surface. His deep voice doesn’t rise. If anything, It becomes quieter. Colder. Menacing.
“You should have walked away when you had the chance.”
Brett’s lips tremble, and all the color drains from his face, wiping away every last trace of arrogance. His knees buckle. A broken sob tears from his throat as every ounce of fight leaves his body.
“You don’t get to fuck with my family and live to tell the tale,” Dominic says, leaning in until his lips are barely an inch from Brett’s ear. “From this moment on, every breath you take belongs to me, and when we’re done, you’ll pray I’d pulled the trigger instead.”