Chapter 27
The meal passed in a blur of stolen touches and heated glances.
Bea ate her sixteen-ounce steak with deliberate satisfaction, making eye contact with each of the brothers as she cut into the perfectly cooked meat.
Killian watched her mouth. Nico’s gaze tracked the movement of her throat when she swallowed.
Dimitri’s hand stayed possessively on her thigh beneath the table, his thumb drawing slow circles against the fabric of her dress.
The waitress returned only to deliver food and refill drinks. Her eyes downcast, her movements quick and efficient. She didn’t speak unless spoken to. Smart girl.
By the time they finished, the restaurant had mostly emptied. It was late, past ten, and the city lights glittered through the floor-to-ceiling windows like scattered diamonds.
Dimitri paid in cash, leaving a tip that was generous but not excessive. A reminder: they weren’t cruel. Just unforgiving.
They walked out together. Dimitri’s hand rested on the small of her back. Killian walked slightly ahead, his massive frame clearing a path. Nico brought up the rear, his dark eyes scanning the street with precision.
The valet brought the car around, a sleek black SUV with bulletproof glass and reinforced plating. Standard issue for men who made enemies professionally.
The driver, a broad-shouldered man named Marcus, held the door open.
Bea slid into the back seat first. Dimitri followed, then Nico.
Killian took the front passenger seat, his long legs folding into the space with practiced ease.
Marcus closed the door and moved around to the driver’s side. The engine purred to life.
They pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the late-night traffic. The city slid past in streaks of neon and shadow. Bea leaned back against the leather seat, her body warm and loose from good food and the weight of three men’s attention.
She felt safe.
That was her first mistake.
They were two blocks from the restaurant when the car slowed at a red light.
Bea was looking out the window, watching a group of college kids stumble out of a bar, laughing and shoving each other.
She smiled faintly, remembering a version of herself that used to do the same thing, back before she learned that laughter could be a weapon and vulnerability could get you killed.
Then she heard it.
A voice, male, rough, slurred with alcohol or rage or both, shouting from somewhere to their left.
“FUCK THE MARCHETTIS!”
Bea’s head snapped toward the sound. A beat-up sedan had pulled up alongside them. The passenger window was down. A man leaned out, his face twisted with fury, his arm extended.
He was holding a gun.
Time fractured.
Bea saw the muzzle flash before she heard the sound, a sharp, deafening crack that split the night open like a wound.
The bulletproof glass spider webbed but held.
Then the world exploded into motion.
“GET DOWN!” Dimitri roared.
His hand shot out, grabbing the back of Bea’s head and shoving her down into the seat. Nico threw himself over her from the other side, his body covering hers completely, his weight pressing her into the leather.
She couldn’t breathe.
She couldn’t see.
All she could hear was the rapid pop-pop-pop of gunfire and the screech of tires and Dimitri’s voice shouting orders she couldn’t make out over the ringing in her ears.
Then another sound cut through the chaos.
The passenger door opening.
Killian.
“KILLIAN, NO!” Bea screamed, but her voice was muffled beneath Nico’s chest.
She heard the unmistakable sound of return fire. Killian’s gun, deeper and louder than the attacker’s. Three shots in quick succession.
A scream from the other car. Male. Pained.
“Got him!” Killian’s voice, sharp with adrenaline. “Hit the bastard in the-”
Another shot.
Different angle.
Closer.
Killian made a sound, low, guttural, surprised.
Bea’s entire body went cold.
“KILLIAN!” she screamed again, shoving against Nico’s weight. “GET OFF ME!”
Nico rolled off her immediately, his face pale, his eyes wide.
Dimitri was already moving, reaching for his own weapon, his expression murderous as he climbed out of the backseat.
He raised his gun firing off an unknown number of shots towards the shooter.
He grabbed Killian and pulled him into the backseat and followed in after him.
“DRIVE MARCUS!” Dimitri yelled and he turned his attention back to his brother.
The driver slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV lurched forward with a roar, tires squealing as they shot through the red light.
Horns blared. Someone screamed. But Marcus didn’t slow down, he took a hard right, then another, weaving through side streets with the precision of a man who’d done this before.
Killian was leaning back, one hand pressed to his side. His face was tight with pain, his jaw clenched, his breathing shallow.
Blood. So much blood.
There was blood seeping between his fingers, dark and wet, spreading across the fabric of his black shirt.
“No,” Bea whispered. “No, no, no-”
She scooted towards him, shoving the other men out of her way, she had to get to him.
Dimitri grabbed her waist, trying to pull her back, but she twisted out of his grip.
“Bea, sit down-”
“Let me GO!” she snarled.
She reached Killian and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back from the door. He turned his head toward her, his face pale but his eyes still sharp.
“Hey, princess,” he said, his voice rough. “You just can’t keep your hands off me can you?”
“Shut up,” Bea snapped. Her hands were shaking as she reached for his shirt. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”
She grabbed the fabric and ripped.
The expensive material tore easily, buttons scattering across the floor of the SUV.
Killian’s chest was bare beneath, scarred, tattooed, and now streaked with blood.
The wound was on his left side, just below his ribs. A dark, ragged hole that was bleeding too much, too fast.
Bea’s breath hitched and her mouth trembled.
“It’s okay, baby,” Killian said, his voice softer now. “I’m okay.”
“You’re NOT okay,” Bea bit out. Her hands moved on autopilot, yanking his shirt completely off, bunching the fabric into a makeshift compress. “You were shot, you’re BLEEDING everywhere.” Her voice was trembling now.
She pressed the wadded shirt against the wound, hard. Killian flinched, his body going rigid. A sharp hiss escaped through his teeth.
“Sorry,” Bea whispered, but she didn’t ease the pressure. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
“Don’t apologize,” Killian gritted out. “You’re doing great.”
“You’re a STUPID man,” Bea muttered, her voice shaking. “Jumping out in the open? You might as well have been holding up a bright fucking target sign! You should have been ducking down like a normal person with a sense of self-preservation! Do you want to fucking die?”
“Had to protect you,” Killian said simply.
Bea’s vision blurred. “I was in the car! We could have just drove away and no one would have gotten hurt! You stupid men always trying to prove to the world how tough you are, well guess what? You are still human! You can still die!” her voice coming out in between fast and shallow breaths.
She blinked hard, trying to focus on the wound, on keeping pressure, on doing *something* useful instead of falling apart.
Behind her, Nico was on the phone, his voice calm and clipped.
“Doc, it’s Nico. We’re coming in hot. Killian’s hit, gunshot wound, left side, below the ribs. He’s conscious and talking, but he’s losing blood.” A pause. “Yeah. ETA ten minutes. Be ready.”
He hung up and leaned forward, his hand landing on Bea’s shoulder. “Doc will be waiting at the compound. He’s the best. Killian’s going to be fine.”
Bea nodded, but she didn’t look away from Killian’s face.
His skin was too pale. His breathing was too shallow. And there was so much blood, soaking through the makeshift compress, warm and slick against her hands.
“Bea,” Killian said softly.
She looked up.
He reached up with his free hand, the one not pressed against his side, and brushed his thumb across her cheek.
It came away wet.
Bea blinked in surprise. She hadn’t realized she was crying.
“I’m okay, princess,” Killian said again, his voice rough but steady. “I promise. It’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me.”
Bea let out a choked laugh that was half sob. “That’s not reassuring.”
Killian smiled, small, pained, but real.
“I’ve been stabbed, shot, beaten half to death, and thrown out of a window once or twice.
Let’s not forget this beauty some hottie gave me.
” As he points to the scar Bea gave him a few years ago.
“This?” He glanced down at the wound. “This is a fucking Tuesday.”
“You’re insane,” Bea whispered.
“Yeah.” His thumb brushed her cheek again. “But I’m your insane.”
Bea’s let out a snotty laugh “That doesn’t even make sense. See now I know you have lost too much blood, you’re not getting any oxygen to your brain.”
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, carefully, avoiding the wound, and closed her eyes. Her hands stayed firm against the compress, keeping pressure, keeping him alive.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” she whispered.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Killian murmured, his eyes getting heavy.
Behind them, Dimitri’s voice was low and lethal, speaking into his phone. “I want every camera feed from that intersection. I want the license plate. I want names and addresses. And I want them now.”
A pause.
“No. Don’t kill them yet. I want them alive when I get there.”
He hung up. “You’re going to be alright Kil, I promise, and I am going to make whoever did this pay.” His voice was low and calm. Scary calm
The SUV roared through the night, Marcus taking corners at speeds that should have been illegal. The city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow.
Bea kept her hands pressed against Killian’s side, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palms, strong, steady, alive.
She didn’t let go, not even when they pulled through the compound gates.
Not even when the SUV screeched to a halt in front of the main entrance.
Not even when the doors flew open and a gray-haired man in surgical scrubs appeared, barking orders at two younger men carrying a stretcher.
“Gunshot wound, left side,” the man said. His voice calm and clinical, Doc she assumed. “How long ago?”
“Eight minutes,” Nico said.
Doc nodded. “Pulse?”
“It’s getting weaker,” Bea said, her voice hoarse.
Doc’s sharp eyes flicked to her, then to Killian. “You did good, honey. Now let me take over.”
Bea hesitated.
Killian’s hand covered hers, squeezing gently. “Let him work, princess.” She nodded and pulled back, her hands slick with blood.
The medical team moved with practiced efficiency, transferring Killian from the SUV to the stretcher. He winced but didn’t cry out, his jaw tight, his eyes locked on Bea the entire time.
“I’ll be fi-,” his voice trailed off as his eyes closed.
Then they wheeled him inside.
Bea stood there in the driveway, her hands covered in his blood. Her heart hammering in her chest, and the taste of fear sharp and metallic on her tongue.
Dimitri’s hand landed on her shoulder pulling her back into his chest kissing the top of her head.
“He’s going to be okay,” he said quietly.
Bea nodded numbly.
But she didn’t believe him.
Not yet.