Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
My makeshift barrier rocks in front of me, teetering on its bullet-torn edges.
The smell of gunpowder and copper drift through the air, so potent it clogs my throat and sticks to the roof of my mouth.
I duck down as a metal projectile rips through the right side of the table.
The wood splinters and cracks, shooting a chunk of mahogany into my face.
“Shit,” I spit through gritted teeth.
Wiping the blood from my cheek, I peer through the ragged hole in my failing barricade.
Corpses litter the floor, their limbs cocked at odd angles and their blood still dribbling onto the marble.
The formerly elegant fabrics of overpriced curtains are torn and stained.
Cracks splinter the high windows of Bianca’s palace.
My eyes follow a path of viscous pink goo that drips down the glass.
Pulling my head back, I stuff the barrel of my gun into the hole and fire until my clip empties. I reload, readying myself to take out more of the fuckers. Just as I put my gun back up, movement at my left catches my attention. I swivel my upper body, training my gun toward the motion.
My heart sinks at the sight of Malik, standing alone with his shoulder pressed to the ugly floral wallpaper. Lowering my weapon, I watch his mouth jump up into a toothy grin. A growl rumbles in my chest.
“What the fuck are you smiling about?!” I scream. “Where is she?!”
A squeaked gasp sounds behind him and a mass of earthy, brown hair peeks out from behind his back.
I jump up, suddenly uncaring that bullets aimed in my direction are zipping through the air.
Without permission from my brain, my body careens forward, narrowly dodging the chunks of metal.
The chaos around us seems to dissipate as my vision narrows, honing in on brown hair and green eyes.
I nod at Malik and something passes between us, an understanding without words.
Our eyes blur with tears that we won’t shed today—mine of gratitude and his of something else.
His smile is wide, but tinged with sadness.
He steps away, anchoring himself behind a stone pillar before opening fire on Bianca’s men.
Ava looks up at me and my chest tightens.
Her eyes are wide and glossy. Blood covers her face and neck.
A tear trickles from her eye, streaking through the crusted red fluid.
I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her shivering form.
I inhale the sweet smell of her beneath the blood, sweat, and gunpowder that coats her skin.
The creature thrashing in my chest calms at her nearness.
“You're always so beautiful when you cry for me,” I whisper into her hair.
She presses her face into my chest and sobs a laugh.
A shiver runs through her body, the movement rippling through my ribcage as her shoulders quake.
I run my fingers through her matted hair, feeling dried blood flake into my palm.
Her scalp is dirty but smooth. Bits of dust, plaster, and clotted blood are embedded in her hair.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I don't find any injuries. Dropping to my knees, I take her face in my hands. I run my fingertips over her skin, searching for the source of the blood. Her lip is split, the cut having already bruised and scabbed over, but I don’t find any other wounds.
I look down to where her bare feet shiver against the floor.
More blood coats her toes, streaks of it reaching up her legs.
Wrapping my fingers around her ankle, I feel her pulse quicken beneath her skin.
I trace them up her leg gently and she gasps.
Tightening my jaw, I try to ignore the way that little sound races through me, traveling from my ears to my dick.
How many days has it been since I heard it last?
How many days since I thought I’d never again hear the sound of her surprise or the anxious thump of her heartbeat?
I search for injuries by running my palms up her bare legs. Her skin is cold and caked with blood and dirt. Scrapes and small puncture wounds mar her beautiful legs. My stomach knots and fingers twitch against her. My pulse quickens as images flood my mind of all the ways they could have hurt her.
“Where are you hurt?” I rasp, pushing the words through my teeth.
Ava’s eyes widen before her gaze returns to her feet. “I’m fine. It-it’s not my blood.”
A tremor zips through her hand, drawing my attention to the thing she’s squeezing in her palm. Light reflects off the metal between her fingers, highlighting its ragged, blood-tipped edges.
I stand, biting down on the smirk that tries to slide across my mouth. “What is that?”
She shifts her feet anxiously, her weight teetering from one to the other. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as the corners of her mouth perk up. “It’s a…uh…” her eyes meet mine and her eyebrows furrow, “Christmas tree topper.”
I smile, a chuckle building in my chest. “Did you get your pretty hands dirty, my clever little bird?”
She nods, a blush forming on her cheeks so deep that it shows even through the caked blood. “I killed two guys with it,” she whispers.
“Fuck,” I groan, pinching her chin between my fingers and angling her mouth toward mine, “that’s hot.”
She rears back, trying to pull her face away from me. “I, uh,” she stutters, “I haven’t brushed my teeth in like…days.”
I grab her hip with my other hand and harden my grip on her face.
“I don't give a fuck about that. Don't deny me this. You have no idea what it's been like for me without you.” A breath gets caught in her throat, tears forming in her eyes as she looks at me. “You can’t understand what it’s like to spend years with a shriveled up organ in your chest, a useless heart that doesn’t beat.”
Pulling her closer, I crush our bodies together.
Her breasts press against me and I stifle a groan, reveling at how perfectly she fits against me.
“Only to find the one person in this world that makes it function.” I swallow thickly, emotion clogging my throat. “Then to have that person taken away…”
“Fuck!” I pinch my eyes closed, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyelids. “If something had happened to you, Ava. If I had lost you, I…”
My lungs tighten, my pulse slamming in my chest. “I was prepared to die here today if it meant I could follow you in death. So now, I need you to kiss me.”
Her mouth crashes into mine, her lips parting on a whimper.
I feel the tears on her cheeks spread across mine as she kisses me.
Her arms wrap around my neck and the tiny weapon in her hand scrapes against my nape.
A desperate sound vibrates in my chest as I think about how ferocious my frightened little bird has become, how beautiful she looks with blood on her face.
She moans into my mouth as my tongue slips against hers.
My dick hardens against my zipper at the taste of her.
The tang of copper dances over my tastebuds, along with a flavor that’s uniquely hers.
A throat clears behind me. “A little help, habibi?”
My body protests as I pull away from her, my lungs seizing as if the air is thinner when it isn’t coming from her mouth.
My legs move, but my eyes linger on her swollen, pink lips.
She runs her tongue over her bottom lip and I clench my fists, summoning all of my willpower to keep me from tackling her to the ground and fucking her right here amidst the gunfire and death.
“Stay here,” I demand.
Her lips squeeze into a pout. “I can help.”
Wrapping my fingers around her elbow, I push her behind the gaudy stone column.
It may look hideous, but it should withstand a few bullets.
“I know you can, baby,” I sigh, “but you will stay right the fuck here.” My words come out growled, my heart thrashing at the thought of putting her in any more danger.
“And you,” I turn my eyes toward Malik, “stay with her.”
He nods, placing his body in front of her like a shield. His stance widens as he unstraps a tactical rifle from his back. With the confidence that he'll protect her in my stead, I turn my back on them and move toward the thunderous sound of gunfire.
An uncomfortable feeling wriggles in my gut, a slithering feeling of unfamiliarity.
I owe Malik a debt for what he's doing today.
I'm not unaccustomed to owing debts. It’s often a necessity of my job, but I know Malik.
The only way he'll let me repay this is through friendship.
And in that, I'm entirely out of my depth. An image flits through my mind—Ava and Malik sitting in our living room, laughing. Would she enjoy that? Would she gush about her favorite books with him? Would she fascinate him with tales of love and war? Jealousy churns deep inside of me, souring my stomach. No, those stories are for me. No matter what he’s done today, those moments when her eyes light up are mine, and mine alone.
I step toward the spray of oncoming bullets and press my body behind another piece of overstated furniture.
The mahogany bar cabinet twitches as metal slams into it.
Glass crunches under my boots and the oaky scent of whisky wafts up from the floor.
I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. What a waste of good liquor.
I force out a heavy breath, steadying my pulse. The rapid drumbeat in my chest lessens, dulling to a steady thump. Av-a, Av-a, Av-a, it beats her name against my ribcage. I almost lost her, my heartbeat. I almost fucking lost her. My nails dig into my palm as I clench my fists at my side.