Chapter 57
ERYX
She’s dying right in front of me and there’s nothing I can do. Sergio and Sebastian just stand there. Watching as her life is draining in front of their eyes.
“Stay with me baby, stay with me.” I thrash in my binds trying to get free. From behind me, I hear popping sounds, and doors being slammed. I know it’s my brother without needing to see him. The door behind me burst open, a smoke grenade goes off and chaos ensues.
The commotion distracts them long enough for me to break free and I charge at Sergio. He fires back, the first one misses, the second one clips me on the shoulder, but I don’t stop. It’s just a flesh wound. I tackle him to the ground and grab the gun from his hands turning it on him.
He pleads for me to stop but I don’t hear anything.
I. SEE. RED.
I pull the chamber back and empty the clip.
Sebastian darted out a side door first chance he got. Pussy.
I rush back over to Anastasia. I don’t register the world except for the weight of my hands and the heat from where she’s bleeding out.
Everything else—shouts, smoke, the scraping of shoes on tile—blurs into a single tunnel.
I drop to my knees beside her like gravity finally remembered me and remembered what I’m supposed to do.
“Anastasia,” I say, my voice a snarl turned into a plead, “Look at me. Look at me.” My fingers find the hole before I even think.
Slick and hot and impossibly small. The blood is damp and fast, painting my palms. I clamp down, hard, using both hands, crossing my arms so the pressure is direct and ugly and absolute.
It hurts to touch her there, as if my hands get burned each time they press, but I press harder.
I can feel the pulse beneath my palms, the tiny, traitorous hammer beating for a breath.
She gurgles something that might be my name.
Her lashes flutter. Her eyes are glass and then they clear, the way a storm sky will, and I drag my face close enough to taste the metallic bite of blood and adrenaline.
“Stay with me,” I tell her, breath hot against her ear.
“You’re a stubborn little thing. You’re not leaving me, not today. ”
Someone grabs my shoulder—Roman, I know before I look—and his grip is a vise that somehow steadies me instead of pulling me away. He looks past me at the doorway where smoke curls like slow fingers, eyes splitting into planning and fury. “Eryx,” he growls. “Hold her. We got this.”
Thoren is already moving, a shadow that becomes a person as he slams through the nearest exit.
He disappears into the same corridor Sebastian went through like he’s swallowed by purpose.
Roman follows him without hesitation, but not before crouching so his face is level with mine.
“Caine’s on comms, Shina is looping the feeds.
You don’t lose her.” His voice is all business and a promise.
I squeeze. I count breaths with her—one, two—anchor points so the world doesn’t drift off its axis. My palms are slick, my forearms tremble under the heat, but she squeezes my fingers back, faint but real. That small pressure is a lifeline.
Down the hall I hear the violent counterpoint of pursuit—doors flung open, a curse, the dull impact of bodies hitting walls.
Thoren’s shout rips through the chaos, then Roman’s barked orders.
There’s a crash, a single sharp crack that could be a gun or a door, then a heavy, animal sound like someone getting the wind knocked out of them.
Footsteps pound away, then a desperate sprint.
“Go,” I tell Roman when he hesitates, like he thinks he can stay and do both. He forces his jaw closed, his eyes promising me that he’ll be back, that Thoren will not let Sebastian disappear. He leaves, and the doorway swallows the two of them.
Left alone with her, the world narrows to a breath, and blood, and the small miracle of her hand in mine. I curse at the ceiling, at the universe. I press until my forearms quake, until my voice is raw from repeating her name.
My comm crackles in my ear, loud against the heavy drum of my pulse.
“Eryx,” Caine’s voice cuts through the chaos, calm and razor-sharp. “You need to move. South corridor, two doors down, service exit. You’re clear for thirty-seconds.”
I adjust my grip on Anastasia, pulling her against my chest. She’s light but limp, her head falling into the crook of my neck. My shirt soaks through, warm and sticky where my hands press over the wound. Every step feels like dragging myself through fire, but I don’t let go. I won’t.
“Got her,” I rasp into the comm, my voice raw. “Keep me covered.”
The smoke from the bombs burns my throat, the alarms wail, but somehow my legs keep moving.
I push through the door Caine directed me to, the air slamming against me like a second wind.
Down the steps, across the gravel—my boots sliding, my arms locking her in.
The van door slams open before I even reach it.
I hear Roman in my ear, “Go!” he barks. “Get her to the safe-house. Don’t worry about us. ”
Thoren is at his side, I can hear him checking his gun, his voice comes through clear and precise, “My doctor’s waiting there. She’ll need blood, he knows where my supply is. He’ll save her. You just get her there alive.”
I nod, even though they can’t see me, though the weight of leaving them burns through my ribs. “Lets go.” The door shuts, and the van lurches forward. I cradle her tighter as if my arms alone can keep her tethered to this world.
Later—hours or maybe a lifetime—we’re in Thoren’s basement. The air is damp, heavy, reeking of sweat, gunpowder, and fear. My shirt is stiff with Stassi’s blood, but she’s alive—for now—upstairs with Roman and Caine watching over her as the doctor works.
And Sebastian?
He’s tied to a chair in front of me. Bruised, bloodied, but still breathing. His wrists are lashed so tight the cord bites into his skin. His head hangs, but he still manages that arrogant little smirk when he lifts his chin.
Thoren paces like a caged wolf, his fists flexing, his jaw a stone wall of fury. He hasn’t said a word since he dragged Sebastian down here, but I can feel his rage radiating like heat off a furnace.
Me? I’m sitting across from the bastard, elbows on my knees, staring at him until my vision pulses. My hands twitch for the gun, for a blade, for anything to peel that smirk off his face.
Upstairs, the only thing that matters is whether Anastasia survives the night. Down here, Sebastian’s survival depends entirely on how long Thoren and I can keep from tearing him apart piece by piece.
My voice is low and lethal, “Tell me why you touched her. Tell me why you thought you could take her from me and live.”
He just smiles wider.
Thoren stops pacing. His voice is colder than I’ve ever heard it. “He’s not walking out of here, Eryx. But before we end him, he’s going to bleed for every second she bled in your arms. For everything he took from her. From me.”
Sebastian laughs once. It’s short, sharp, and suicidal.
He knows he won’t be walking out of here alive.
I want this like a live wire in my chest. I lean forward until the smell of sweat and cheap cologne fills my nostrils.
Sebastian’s eyes are glassy, the bravado gone, leaving something small and terrified behind.
That sight should calm me, but it only fattens the hunger under my ribs.
“Start talking,” I say, but it slides off him like water off oil.
He laughs once, thin and brittle, and for a second I almost forget to hate him because the sound is so small.
Thoren answers for me. He steps in with the kind of slow, practiced violence that says he’s done this before in worse places.
We’re not so different he and I. He grabs Sebastian by the jaw and yanks his head back so he has to look at us.
“I took her because I could. Because she belongs to me.”
I jab my fist into his ribs. “She’s not a piece of property you get to claim.” I hit him again, cracking his rib, “You put your hands on her. You killed her parents. You hurt her.”
“I did more than that,” he laughs and I hit him square in the jaw, another hit to his nose, breaking it.
He coughs up blood, and spits it on the floor.
“You should of seen the look on her face,” he grins wide, “when I held her down and made her choke on—” I slam my fist into his nose again, I don’t let him finish his sentence.
“Hey Thoren, you mind strapping his head to the chair?” I ask him, rolling over the tray he set out and picking up a set of pliers.
“Wha—what are you doing?”
Thoren finishes strapping his head, he tries to move but can’t.
“I’m going to pull out your teeth Sebastian.
Then I’m going to cut out your tongue for having her name in your mouth.
For calling her out her name. I’m going to move to your hands and pull out each of your fingernails, break your fingers, and cut off your hands.
In that order, so you feel all of it. That’s going to be for touching her.
I’ll finish with the Dean special. I’m going to cut off your dick and shove it down your fucking throat.
I’m going to watch you choke on it as your mouth fills up with blood and then we’ll see what look you have on YOUR.
FUCKING. FACE!” I scream the last part at him.
An hour into my torture and Sebastians screams wine down. I’m hot and sweaty. He’s a bloody fucking mess. He stopped responding maybe ten minutes ago, but it’s not enough. I need to kill him twenty times over to even feel an ounce of retribution. I’m stopped by Thoren.
“He’s gone Eryx, it’s done.”
I just nod and back away, dropping the bloody tools back on the tray. Somewhere above us muffled sounds cut through the ceiling. Roman’s voice, tight and raw. I think he might be on the phone. Probably letting Ro know what’s happening, the doctor working like a surgeon and a saint.
The thought of her small chest fighting for a breath makes the room tilt. Everything sharpens. Once I’m back upstairs, I see Caine sitting on a chair next to her. There’s a bag of blood hanging by her bed.
“What happened, how is she?”
“Vitals are stabilizing. She lost a lot of blood, but Doc’s a miracle worker. Guess it’s a good thing Thoren was hoarding bags of his blood, huh?” He smiles, “He says she’s breathing on her own, but she needs rest.”
“Thank you.” A small, savored relief flares inside me.
I stay by her side all night. My hand wrapped around hers. I need to feel her pulse, I need to know she’s still here with me and that I haven’t lost her.
Thoren and Roman disposed of what was left of Sebastian. I’ll deal with the repercussions when the time comes, right now all that matters is that she’s breathing, she’s alive.
My arm throbs from where the bullet grazed me, the fabric of my shirt stiff with dried blood. Roman notices when he comes in, his eyes narrowing. “You’re bleeding through,” he says flatly, already setting down a small kit he must’ve found.
“I don’t care,” I mutter, not taking my eyes off her.
“You don’t have a choice.” He crouches beside me, scissors in hand, slicing through my sleeve before I can argue.
The sting is sharp when he cleans the wound, but I barely flinch.
My free hand never lets go of hers. Roman grumbles something under his breath about stubborn bastards and idiots in love, but he works quickly, wrapping the bandage snug around my bicep.
When he finishes, he rests a heavy hand on my shoulder. “She’s strong. She’ll wake up. But she’ll need you whole, not falling apart.”
I just nod, jaw tight. “I’m not moving from this spot.”
The others check in, one by one. Caine sets water by the bed, his eyes flicking between me and her. Thoren lingers in the doorway, his expression unreadable. “She’ll need you when she wakes,” he says quietly. Then he’s gone.
Hours crawl by. My body aches, exhaustion pulling at me, but I can’t stop staring at her.
Afraid that if I blink, I’ll miss her last breath.
Then—her fingers twitch in mine. I jolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribs.
Her lashes flutter, then her eyes open, dazed but searching. They land on me.
“Nastasya?”
Relief crashes through me so hard I almost collapse. Tears burn, spilling down my face. “Baby… I’m here. I’m right here.”
Her lips part, trembling. “Eryx…”
I press her hand to my mouth, choking on a sob. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Don’t you fucking dare leave me.”
Her tears spill over, but she shakes her head weakly. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
The words spear through me. My chest tightens, anger laced with terror. “You think I wanted that? You think I’d survive watching you take a bullet for me?” My voice breaks, rough and low. “Don’t you ever put yourself between me and a gun again. Ever. If you go, Vorona, I go. You hear me?”
Her lip trembles as fresh tears run down her face. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “For running that day, for shutting you out. I promised your mom I’d give you grace. I didn’t understand then, but I do now.”
I cup her face, my thumb brushing the wetness from her skin.
My forehead presses to hers, our tears mingling.
“No, it’s me. I should’ve told you everything sooner.
I should’ve trusted you. I kept it buried because I thought I was protecting you, but I only hurt you more.
” My voice breaks, raw and desperate. “I love you, Nastasya. I’ve loved you all this time. ”
She sobs, but it’s lighter somehow, like something breaking loose inside her.
Her hands, weak but insistent, clutch at my shirt.
She pulls me down, and I kiss her, hard and trembling, the salt of our tears between us.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate. Years of silence and pain and near-death pressed into one kiss.
My hands cradle her face, sliding into her hair, terrified to let go.
When we break apart, both of us gasping, her eyes shine up at me, swollen and wet, but alive. “I love you too,” she breathes.
For the first time in years, I feel relief, like maybe we can survive this. We will survive this. Together.