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I refused to think she was dead.
I FUCKING REFUSED.
My gun was already high, and I tilted it Abramovicz’s way. My bullets missed though because he plunked to his knees before they could find their home, blood loss evidently weakening him to the point of collapse.
I could have just shot him, but I didn’t. I picked up that pinkthingon the ground, well aware of what it was, and strode over to the fucker who’d made my wife’s life a misery for too long.
Pinching his nose, which had Abramovicz’s dazed eyes darting open and staring up at me, I waited for him to retaliate but he didn’t fight me, his mouth just popped open as he curled in on himself, trying to stop the pain and the blood loss—he didn’t need to worry about either. He wouldn’t be feeling anything soon.
I shoved his dick back into his mouth, punched his chin so his jaw slammed closed around his cock, then pressed the muzzle of my gun to his forehead.
“For Camille,” I rasped as the cunt let out a moan, and I squeezed the trigger.
When his brains scattered everywhere, his skull caving in, I took a second to calm myself before I faced the fucking truth.
My heart was in my throat, my lungs were straining like I was underwater, but I made myself twist around, made myself step forward.
She was so still. Her face pasty except for the blood that was already starting to cake on her skin. Clumps of hair were on the floor, where he’d ripped it free from her head, and I begrudged every lost golden lock. Amid that treasure, there was an abandoned gun that Abramovicz must have dropped after—
No.
Mouth trembling, I sank to my knees and pressed a hand to her head. There were bruises there already, blossoming around her temple like obscene flowers, but I whispered her name, needing her to wake up. Needing those beautiful green eyes to stare back at me.
She’d been in my life too short a time to be able to say I loved her, hadn’t she?
Men didn’t fall in love in a week.
Christ, we didn’t fall in love in a month orsixmonths.
But as I looked down at her, as I stared at her still form, as I studied her beautiful red-stained face, as I recognized that she was a fighter, just like me, those feelings were impossible to deny.
What else was impossible to deny?
The rage inside me, the fury that she could be taken from me when I’d only just found her.
We should have a lifetime to get sick of each other. Instead, I’d broken my promises to her.
In my head, for the first time since Ma had been abducted, and I’d learned what it was to be a man, I prayed andmeantit,“Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—”
As the Lord’s Prayer whirred in my mind like a song, her eyelashes fluttered, and my shaking hand moved to stroke through her hair. “Camille?”
My voice was hoarse, her name was husky on my lips, but it was a benediction nonetheless.
Her brow puckered as her eyes opened a slither, then she groaned and turned her face into my thigh, moaning, “Brennan?”
“You’re safe now,Mo Anam Cara,” I rasped.
“I knew you’d come for us,” she whispered.
Her hand moved slowly, in increments like that was painful, and she covered her eyes a second.
I wanted to ask what had happened, but I didn’t want to rush her—
“The bastard pistol-whipped me.” Then she stunned me further. Her bright red lips curved. Fuckingcurved. Into a blood-stained smile.“I deserved it.”
“What?” I muttered, confused.Deservedit? The hell was she talking about?
“Help me up?” I obeyed, propping her up as she asked: “Is Victoria okay?”
“C-Cammie?” Victoria almost skidded as she crawled toward us, throwing herself at Camille who opened her arms with a grimace, which had me wondering if she’d broken a rib or something, before she held her tight, clinging to her as hard as Victoria clung back.
“It’s okay,malyshka, he can’t hurt you now.”
Victoria started sobbing, and all I could do was watch as Camille comforted her. Dazed, I stayed in place, propping Camille up, holding her as close as our position would allow, and wondering if God was going to hold me to the promise I’d made him at the end of the Lord’s Prayer.
