When she pulls back, her voice is ragged but steady. “You’d better be right behind me.”
Her words cut sharper than any bullet. And God help me, I’ll bleed this cemetery dry before I break that promise.
Sophia crouches low, skirts brushing damp grass, and slips through the jagged break in the fence. My chest tightens as I watch her vanish into the dark beyond the headstones. Then she’s clear, darting across the cracked asphalt of the service road, fast, determined, every step pounding like a drumbeat in my head.
The shot comes sharp, splitting the night.
Time slows. I see her body jerk mid-stride, the force lifting her clean off her feet. She sails through the air, a twisted arc against the streetlight glow, before crashing down hard onto the pavement.
My throat locks. She doesn’t move. Not an inch. Just a small, broken shape on the ground, the fire in her snuffed out in an instant.
Rage boils through me, thick and hot. The world narrows to the echo of that gunshot and the sight of Sophia crumpled in the road.
The shot still echoes in my ears when I spot the bastard who pulled the trigger. Rage steadies my hands. I stand tall, lift thegun, and line up the sight. One squeeze, one bullet, and his skull snaps back in a spray of red. He’s dead before he hits the ground.
The satisfaction lasts half a heartbeat. Then the night erupts. Gunfire rains down, bullets smashing into stone around me, ricochets whining off headstones, shards of marble exploding into the air like shrapnel. I drop, covering my head with one arm, teeth clenched against the storm. Dust chokes the air, acrid and heavy.
When the barrage eases, I dare a glance toward the asphalt. My heart freezes. The spot where Sophia’s body lay is empty.
Gone.
For a beat I can’t breathe—then hope punches through my chest, raw and savage.
She’s alive.
She has to be.
I bolt, sprinting low and fast for the gap in the fence, every muscle burning with the need to reach her. If she’s out there, if she’s breathing, then nothing in this graveyard or the next will keep me from her.
Chapter Fourteen
Sophia
Biscayne Park looms ahead, trees crowding together, the night thick with damp earth and the hum of crickets. I press my back to a trunk, bark rough against my skin, one hand clamped over my shoulder. The wound burns hot, a pulse of fire with every breath. Hurts like a bitch—but I’m alive.
If I can make it across the park, to the lights and noise of the streets beyond, maybe I’ll survive. Maybe we both will.
Then the night erupts—gunfire, rapid and relentless, tearing through the quiet. I freeze, pressing myself tighter against the tree, heart hammering. Footsteps follow, pounding the dirt. Someone’s running.
I hold my breath. Please, not them. Please—
Raphael streaks past me, a shadow in motion. Relief bursts in my chest, sharp and overwhelming. “Raphael,” I whisper, soft but desperate.
He stops dead, pivots, then rushes back to me. The next second I’m crushed against him, his arms locking me in, fierce and unyielding. Pain rips through me and I bite down hard on my lip to keep from screaming.
He pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, and his eyes drop to my blouse. Pale pink and white silk, ruined now, the shoulder drenched in a dark, spreading stain. His jaw tightens, fury flashing in his gaze.
I shake my head quickly. “We have to keep going. We need to get to the other side of the park.”
He doesn’t argue, not yet. Instead, he crouches slightly, inspecting the wound, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they press around the torn fabric. His eyes flick back to mine, hard and searching. “Can you run, Princess?”
If I speak, he’ll hear the hesitation, so I just nod. Raphael’s hand presses firm against the small of my back. I kick off my shoes, the grass cold under my feet, and we take off—darting through trees and open stretches, lungs burning, hearts pounding. We don’t stop until the chain-link fence looms ahead, the only thing between us and the street beyond.
Raphael grips the fence and scales it like it’s nothing, every movement smooth, powerful, controlled. Even in the dark, even in the chaos, I can’t help noticing how damn agile he is, how strong. He swings over the top, lands light on his feet, and looks back at me.
I grab the chain-link, metal biting into my palms. My shoulder screams the second I haul myself up, pain white-hot and blinding. For a heartbeat I want to stop, but I grind my teeth, shove the fear down, and keep climbing. Determination is the only thing I have left.
At the top my grip falters. The world tilts. My body pitches forward—falling.
