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Two large bodies dressed in all black move with lightning speed through the room. A shot is fired, the deafening sound of it in such a small space, making my ears ring. Another body drops to the floor. There’s a pounding that starts to form behind my eyes, my head throbbing along with my shoulder, the ache pulsing in sync with my erratic heartbeat.
Within seconds, I feel hands on me. I jerk away on instinct, but then I realize that said hands are warm and gentle, not rough and cruel. I try and focus on the person crouching beside me, cutting through the cable ties that were keeping me attached to the chair.
We’re being rescued, or are we?
“Are you okay?” A familiar voice finally gets through to me, cutting through the terror-filled fog clinging to my mind.
“Trey?” I croak as his green eyes come into view.
“We’re here. You’re going to be fine, Princess,” Trey assures me, even though I don’t feel like I’m going to be fine.
Looking straight ahead I watch as Declan frees Wes from his chair. My eyes move to the ground, the evil man’s body lays in a heap on the floor, a bullet right between his eyes. Relief washes over me at the sight, and I release a ragged sob. They found us, they really found us. I don’t know how they did it, but I don’t care. They are here now. We’re all alive. Everything is going to be okay. It has to be.
Trey wraps his arm around me and pulls me off the chair. My shoulder throbs at the contact, and I grit my teeth, holding back a wince.
“We need to get out of here, before more men are sent in, or someone finds us.”
“Okay,” I manage to say as Trey pushes me into Wes’s arms. Declan leads the way, Wes and I follow him closely, and Trey covers us from behind. Both of them have their weapons drawn, and Wes shields me with his body while moving us along.
“Are you okay?” Wes asks in a low voice, as we move quickly. I know he’s worried, and parts of me are too. We could’ve died. I’ve never been more sure of it in my life and the realization of it weighs heavily on my heart. This was my father’s doing. These were men he hired, men he told to watch us.
His intent for death had never been more clear and now I felt a need to get even. Before when he shot Declan, it wasn’t as big of an ordeal. I felt to blame then, but this time I wasn’t to blame. This time the intent was clear.
“Yes, I think…” I tell him, but honestly, I don’t know. I’m feeling a bit numb right now. Glancing down at the cut on my shoulder, it looks nasty, blood seeps from the wound, the gash crooked, and probably needing some stitches. Christ… the wound hurts, but right now it’s nothing more than a low throb, a dull ache in comparison to what it could have been had Declan and Trey not gotten there when they did.
I’m not stupid. I know I should be terrified right now, huddling in the corner and curling in on myself, but all I can think of is how we aren’t dead and how the guys saved me, protected me.
My feet move on their own, following Declan’s every step. We move up two flights of stairs and down a long corridor. Sunlight filters in from what looks to have been a door at one point and time. I step out of the building, sucking in a greedy breath of fresh air. A light wind blows, sending my hair into my face, and I’ve never been happier feeling the air and the sun on my skin. Wes’s arms never loosen their hold on me, not even as we walk around the building and down an alleyway.
With a fast walking speed, we make it to a car, one that I had seen in the parking garage just this morning. Declan gets into the back with me, ushering me inside gently, while Trey gets into the driver’s seat, and Wes climbs into the passenger seat.
“I think we got lucky. No one saw us leaving. We killed everyone on sight,” Trey says as he starts the car and we drive away.
“They didn’t expect us to find you,” Declan says next to me while holding onto my arm and inspecting the wound.
“Well, they thought fucking wrong.” Wes’s voice is hostile, deep, and dark. “I want him fucking dead. I want to bury his entire organization. I want every single one of those corrupt fuckers to pay.” His fist comes down slamming into the dashboard with brute force. I don’t even jump at the contact or his outburst of rage. I understand how he’s feeling, because I’m feeling the same way. Weeks ago, I hadn’t believed them, didn’t want to. I wholeheartedly expected my father to come to my rescue and when he didn’t it… well, it more than stung. But he didn’t want me. I was trash in his eyes. Broken.
