Page 49 of Possessive Mafia Bodyguard

I spot a guy in a bulky hi-vis coat with the word SECURITY printed on the back in bold white font, who doesn’t appear to be guarding much. The authorities have either concentrated their resources on the Iroquois Landing following the previous incident—as if lightning strikes twice in the same place—or they’re deliberately lax tonight because they’ve been bribed to do so.

My suspicions are confirmed when I spot activity at the opposite end of the dock from the security guard and recognize the writing on the side of the ship in the process of being unloaded.

The Russian ship.

My body is still operating on muscle memory, fueled by the ache in my chest, and the knowledge that I’ve already fucked up so there’s no point holding back.

These aren’t the same men who bought me and my sister, but they are the same kind of assholes cut from the same putrid cloth.

The smell of the container we crossed the ocean in, mingled with the disgust I’d have seen in Finn’s eyes when I shot his brother if I’d looked, floods my senses making it hard to breathe.

There’s only one way to relieve it and hopefully save my sister at the same time.

I don’t even try to hide. I march along the dock in full view of the security guard if he happens to turn around and do his job, my hands in my pockets.

The Russians, comfortably protected, don’t look around until I’m close enough to see the serpents coiled around their necks. When the first one spots me, he slides a hand down to the holster around his waist, as my bullet enters his chest. His body jerks backwards, alerting his peers to the problem heading their way.

I feel no fear as they all abandon the container being winched off the ship. I pray that Ivana will be safe, and that Finn won’t cry over me. Tears sting my eyes as I pump bullets into the men with the fastest reactions like this is a video game where you take down the closest opponents first.

Then I hear the roar of a motorcycle engine and squealing tires, and the Russians falter, torn between taking me down and holding fire until they can identify the latest intruder.

Too late.

The bike screeches to a halt beside me, and a familiar voice yells, “Get on!”

I don’t hesitate. I run and grab Finn’s hand as he pulls me onto the pillion seat, accelerating back along the dock and skidding between storage units and out of sight of the Russians.

I don’t look back.

I wrap my arms around Finn’s waist, rest my head against his leather jacket, and close my eyes. My brain is empty. Perhaps it shut down when I put a bullet through Connor’s hand and is mercifully giving me a reprieve before the shit hits the fan. I don’t even have the energy to question it.

All I know is that I’m still alive because of Finn.

Because he saved me from myself.

And I have no way of ever repaying him.

We drive through the city, weaving through traffic and not stopping at red signals. I allow my thoughts to drift, beg for them to carry me away to somewhere men like the Petrovs don’t exist, where I don’t need to carry weapons, and Ivana and I can rewrite our history to something golden and filled with smiles and laughter.

But the feel of Finn’s back beneath my cheek keeps me grounded, and I dread the moment he’ll stop the bike, kill the engine, and say goodbye.

I don’t open my eyes until I feel Finn’s body relax against me. When I do, I discover that we’re in an underground parking lot, in a private bay close to the elevators.

“Tamara?”

He takes my hands and removes them gently from around his waist, and it feels like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. My body starts to tremble violently with the aftershock of what I’ve done, and I crumple against him, no longer able to keep myself upright. Then he slides his leg over the saddle, removes his helmet, and scoops me into his arms without a word, and I don’t fight it.

My arms wrap around his neck, and I rest my head on his chest, burying my face against his warm leather jacket, as he carries me into the elevator and up to his apartment.

I don’t move when he carries me over the threshold like we’re a newly married couple. I can’t even think beyond the moment, his steady heartbeat all that’s keeping me awake while darkness threatens to claim my vision and drag me down into the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

Finn doesn’t say a word. He sets me down gently on his bed, pulls the comforter over me, and vanishes into the ensuite bathroom. I hear the faucets being turned on in the tub, the sound of running water, the sweet aroma of mangoes drifting through the open doorway.

I close my eyes again.

It would be easy to stay here and pretend tonight didn’t happen. But living a lie won’t bring Ivana back. It won’t heal the hole in Connor’s hand caused by a bullet from my gun. It won’t stop the subsequent war between the Ivanovs and the Irish. And it won’t make Finn love me. Not that I know what to do with his love. If that’s what this even is.

Maybe I doze off, I don’t know.