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We’d walked right into a trap—and I wasn’t walking out of it.
The guy in the ponytail left his chair and walked around the table toward me.
“What are you doing?” My father’s voice turned frantic, and he got out of his chair.
I was out of my chair too, dragging the chair in front of me as an obstacle between us. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
He smiled, and he was missing most of his teeth too.
My father stepped in front of me. “Christian, I’ll cooperate. Just leave my daughter alone.”
I hoped Axel saw my location. I hoped he wasn’t in the gym or in the shower, having no idea that we both needed help.
“They aren’t mutually exclusive, Dante,” Christian said from his chair.
My father continued to block me from the assailants. “Guards!”
“No one’s coming,” Christian said. “My guys came in behind us and killed them all with syringes.”
The guy rushed my father.
My father threw a punch and then ducked the attack. Blows went back and forth, and I was surprised my father could hold his own against a guy at least a decade younger. “Scarlett, run!”
There was nowhere to go, not when the other three guys were near the door.
Christian beckoned me forward with his fingertips. “Come here, sweetheart.”
I was so sick. So fucking sick.
I grabbed the chair that had been pushed aside and slammed it into the guy who’d just punched my father in the face.
The man collapsed to the floor and gave a loud moan.
The other three guys jumped to their feet as my father went on to the next one.
I dropped down and searched the guy for a weapon. Their guns had been stripped at the entrance, but maybe he had a knife or something.
I heard my father grunt when he was punched in the stomach, and my hands shook as I explored the guy’s pockets. I finally found a pocketknife, the kind used to open mail or other household packages. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but I could make it into a damn weapon.
I got to my feet, seeing one of the men punch my father so hard he crashed to the floor. Just then, another guy came around the table and threw himself at me. My hand automatically shot up and dug the blade deep into his neck, hitting him in the artery. I knew I’d hit my mark when the blood started to squirt. “Oh fuck.”
“Get in here!” Christian yelled down the hallway.
My father was collapsed on the floor, knocked out cold.
Christian and his last guy came at me from either side of the table, blocking my exit on both sides.
I kicked the chair at one of them then threw myself across the table, sliding until I hit the floor on the other side. I forced myself up and lunged at the door, but I stopped when I saw the guys running down the hallway.
Then I was grabbed by the throat, a heavy arm squeezing me so tight, he nearly broke my neck. I couldn’t breathe, only flailed my arms around as I tried to get free.
“This bitch is feisty.” It was Christian who had me. “We’ll have some fun with her before we give her back.”
“Let her go.” My father’s voice came from behind me.
“Knock that fucker out.”
A burst of rage surged through me, and I slammed my head back as hard as I could, hitting Christian square in the nose.
“Fuck.” He dropped me and reached for his face.
I threw myself at him and knocked him to the floor.
My father went for the other guy, blood stained all over his face.
Christian pulled me down and punched me in the face, then punched me again, making blood pour from my mouth and nose. “Still sit, bitch.”
I scratched his face, digging my nails as deep as I could go.
Then he grabbed my throat again and squeezed. “Fuck it, I’m killing her.” He squeezed me tight, refusing to let any air reach my lungs. Seconds passed, and I couldn’t fight it. Reality started to slip away.
Gunshots were audible in the distance. Then I heard yells and screams. I lay there, my vision blurry, the pain suddenly gone because I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I was aware of the pressure leaving my neck and the air that finally flooded into my lungs. Christian was yanked off me and slammed into the wall. A gunshot went off, and he was dead. Another went off, and then it went quiet.
“Baby.”
I inhaled a deep breath when I heard that voice. “Babe?” I released a series of coughs, the air hurting my lungs when I tried to speak.
He lifted me from the floor and cradled me in his arms. Livid eyes roamed over my appearance, checking my face and the blood that dripped to my chin. “Jesus Christ.”
“Scarlett.” My father’s voice came closer. “Sweetheart, are you?—”
