Page 97 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

“You cunt,” he spits out and sneers at me. “Jack Vega’s death already cost me everything. They wanted blood for blood. Now I have to kill you all to prove my worth.”

Elliot grunts, and his eyes find mine. He tries to say something I can’t make out. His fingers twitch slightly, and the zip tie slips off his wrist.

My legs go weak. Emily’s face keeps cutting in through everything else. Her laughing in the kitchen, then the last video, and the last hug she gave me, it all plays like a movie in my mind. I can hear her voice like she’s standing right behind me.

Love you, sissy.

I can’t move. The guard’s arm is like an iron weight against my chest. Fuller is still talking, but the words are sliding off me. Elliot is bleeding out because of me. Fuck.

Fuller notices I’m frozen. He sees the crack in my composure. A slow, ugly smile spreads across the half of his face that’s still attached to bone. He lifts the gun again, this time pointing it at Elliot’s head.

“Let’s finish what we started,” he says. “You watch. Then I decide if I make it quick or let you live long enough to regret every choice that brought you here.”

I can’t breathe. Panic claws up my throat so fast it feels like I’m drowning.

A door slams open on the far side of the warehouse. Fuller’s head snaps toward the sound.

Julian steps out from a stack of discarded boxes, gun pointed at Fuller, and fires. The first shot cuts clean across the back of his head, taking off the other half of his skull. He goes limp, falling to the floor.

Elliot launches his body at Fuller, taking him to the ground. I have no idea how he has the strength. A shot goes off. Then another.

“He’s got a bomb,” Elliot grunts, blood dripping from his mouth as he fights for control of Fuller’s wrist. “Kill switch⁠—”

The guard starts dragging me backward, using me as a shield.

Elliot rolls, bloody fingers closing around the slim black band on Fuller’s wrist. He rips it free with a pained snarl.

“Got it,” he rasps.

The guard holding me freezes for half a second in shock.

“Duck, Lee,” Bash says in the comms. I drop my head as low as I can.

A second later, blood splatters hot across my face and hair. The guard’s body jerks once, then his weight drags us both down. The floor knocks the breath out of me. I shove his arm off me and scramble free, chest heaving.

Then it gets really chaotic. The guys are up to fourteen.

“Fifteen. Merry Christmas, Lee. Don’t say I never got you anything,” Riley says. A body plunges from the rafters at my side.

“Sixteen.”

“See, Riley, another missed opportunity. 'Welcome to the party, pal,’ would have really landed right there,” Calum says.

“Damn,” he whispers in the comms.

I stagger to Elliot.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

Knees buckling, I scoot next to him. His eyes are bloodshot. Maroon pulses between my fingers when I press down on his chest trying to slow the bleed.

“Stay with me,” I say. My voice sounds wrong. “Elliot. Look at me.”

Julian is suddenly there, dropping down on Elliot’s other side. His hands move with steady purpose as he checks the wounds, but when his eyes lift to mine, his face is wrecked.

He reaches for me, grabbing my face between his palms. They’re warm and sticky with blood as they run over my head, my neck, my shoulders.

“Where are you bleeding from?”