Page 99 of Sinful Bride

I holster my gun and move to Elena, kneeling beside her and checking for a pulse. It's steady and strong beneath my fingers, and her breathing is shallow but regular. Whatever they used to knock her out, it's working, but it hasn't killed her. The relief I feel is almost startling, considering what she did just last night. But I feel it, all the same.

I gather her into my arms, lifting her carefully. Her head falls against my shoulder, her hair spilling over my arm, and for a moment I just stand there, holding her.

Someone tried to take my wife. The question is who.

I carry her toward the exit, stepping over the bodies without looking at them. My men will handle the cleanup and make sure the staff doesn't find anything they shouldn't. They'll make sure this doesn't blow back on me. Right now, I just need to get Elena out of here.

The exit leads to a service alley, and I call the driver, watching for the car to come around. I get her into the back seat and slide in beside her, pulling her against me so she doesn't slump over. Her head rests on my shoulder, her breathing soft and even. She looks peaceful, like she's just sleeping. Like she didn't try to kill me less than twenty-four hours ago.

I tell the driver to take us home, and I sit in the back seat with my wife in my arms, trying to figure out what the hell I'm supposed to do now.

She stirs about halfway through the drive. A soft sound escapes her throat, confused and disoriented. Her hand moves to her head, fingers pressing against her temple like she's trying to ease a headache. Then her eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy. "Declan?" Her voice is slurred. She blinks up at me, trying to make sense of where she is. "What⁠—"

"Don't talk." My voice comes out harsh. "Just sit still."

She tries to sit up, but her body won't cooperate. She sags back against me, her hand clutching at my jacket for balance. "What happened? I was—there were men⁠—"

"I said don't talk."

She goes quiet. I feel her tense against me the moment she realizes I'm not going to comfort her or reassure her or tell her everything's going to be okay. Because it's not. Nothing about this is okay.

She tries again a few minutes later. Her hand moves to my arm, her fingers curling around my sleeve. "Declan, please. I need to⁠—"

I pull my arm away. "Save it."

Her hand falls back to her lap. She doesn't try to touch me again.

The rest of the drive passes in silence. Elena sits beside me, her body still pressed against mine because she doesn't have the strength to sit up on her own, but there's a distance between us now that has nothing to do with physical space. She's awake enough to understand that something is wrong. That I'm not going to listen to whatever she wants to say.

We reach the penthouse, and I carry her inside, because she still can't walk on her own. The drug is wearing off, but she's unsteady, her legs shaking when I set her down in the living room. She grabs onto the back of the couch for balance, her knuckles white against the dark leather. "Declan⁠—"

"Sit down." I move away from her, putting distance between us. "Before you fall down."

She sits slowly, like she's afraid her legs will give out if she moves too fast. Her dress is ruined, blood-soaked and torn at the hem where it dragged on the floor. Her hair is a mess, falling out of the elegant updo she wore to the gala. She looks like she's been through hell.

She looks like someone I should want to protect. But all I can see is the gun in her hand as she stood over me while I slept.

"What happened?" she asks quietly. Her voice is steadier now, more lucid. "At the gala. I was in the bathroom, and then⁠—"

"You were attacked." I lean against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. "Three men. They drugged you and tried to take you out through a service exit."

Her face goes pale. "Did you⁠—"

"I killed two of them. Knocked the other out."

She closes her eyes and takes a shaky breath. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I didn't do it for you."

"Then why⁠—"

"Because you're my wife." The words taste bitter. "And if someone's going to kill you, it's going to be me. Not some hired thugs in a hotel bathroom."

She flinches like I've slapped her. "Declan, please. Let me explain⁠—"

"Explain what?" I cut her off, my voice rising. "Explain why you had a gun pointed at my head? Explain why you were going to pull the trigger? Or maybe you want to explain why you're suddenly so concerned about who tried to kidnap you?"

"I think—" She stops and swallows hard. "I think it was my father."