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“You’re doing great,” he told her, looking down at the scars on her wrists that were rubbed raw from her struggle, her knuckles white as she made progress with the blade. The rope was barely holding together with a few strands that would snap any second.
“Hey!”
A loud voice from the door jerked Amara. She spun around and Dante leaned to the side, to see one burly guy looking at them angrily. He came towards her, and Dante snapped his arm out, feeling the tension in the rope cut through his forearm, took the knife from her limp hand, throwing it across the room. His aim hit true, the blade lodging itself in the man’s neck as blood spurted out, him falling to his knees.
Amara scattered back a few steps even though she was clear of the blood, her face a mask of shock. He just hoped her mind survived their night together.
Undoing the knot on his other hand deftly, Dante quickly got out of the ropes, standing up and shaking his limbs and jumping twice to get the blood flowing.
First things first, he crossed the space between him and his girl, grabbed her beautiful face in his hands, and kissed her deep. “You are a fucking warrior queen, and I’m so proud of you,” he told her softly, seeing the effect his words had on her.
Her lips trembled in a slight smile. “You make me strong.”
Fuck, he liked that.
Giving her a smile, he pressed their foreheads together, his ears open to any external noise. “As soon as we walk out that door, you’re going to see a side of me tonight you’ve never seen before. I’m going to slaughter them, and you’ll have to see that. Think you’ll love me after?”
She gripped his wrists, nodding. “In sickness in health, in life in death, in murder in mayhem, isn’t that how it goes?”
He chuckled, giving her a small kiss, giving her the affection he knew she craved in her bones but rarely voiced, and pulled back. Leaning down, he stripped the 9mm from the first guy and his knife from the other, handing the gun to her.
“Keep this,” he told her as she took the weapon, her hands shaking. “It’s loaded and unlocked. Stay behind me. You see anyone coming at you, aim and fire. Space your legs apart so your frame is steady. The recoil is a bitch, so be prepared for that. You okay?”
“Won’t you need this?” she asked him, holding the gun with both hands.
He smiled, waving the sharp knife. “I’m good. Let’s get out of this hellhole.”
The biggest disadvantage was not knowing exactly how many people were on the premises once they got out the door. It could be two or ten or twenty, and while on his own it wouldn’t have mattered, he was protecting precious cargo and anything getting to her would make him very, very angry.
Heading to the door, he quickly leaned out to check both sides of the corridor.
“There’s a staircase to the right,” came the soft words from behind him. “It goes down to an office of sorts an
d opens into… a garage,” her voice hitched on that last word. That’s where he’d found her and Tristan, in the garage. That’s where he’d picked her up in his arms and she’d fluttered her eyes open, anchoring herself to his heart with the trust in them. He doubted she remembered any of that, but he never forgot it, the way her small body had shuddered and her pained breathing had assaulted his chest like bullets. He knew what talking about this place, reliving her memories of escape was doing to her. And yet, she did it. Terrified as she was, she did it.
He didn’t understand how she could ever think herself weak.
Nodding once in acknowledgment of the information, Dante switched the gears in his mind, his body honed with years of training in tune with his mental commands, and stepped out into the barely-lit corridor. Trusting her to stay behind him, he crept forward, coming to a stop at seeing one guy near the top of the staircase. Prowling on quiet feet, he stepped behind the man, muffling his mouth with his hand, and slit his throat, laying the body quietly on the ground.
Jumping over the body to the stairs, he saw Amara staring at the dead guy, and gave her a hand to jump over him. She landed behind him and nodded at him to go on, and he turned around, descending the steps silently, senses on high alert.
He heard the noise at the bottom of the stairs, clocked two men, and swiftly came at one from the back, hitting the top of his skull with his elbow. Before the other guy could react, he leaned to the side, kicking him in the throat, while jabbing the first man in his femoral artery, letting him bleed. The second man raised his gun and Dante twisted, swiping at his knee with his feet, putting the blade with his mouth as he got a grip of the guy’s head and broke his neck. It happened within seconds, the speed and surprise in his favor, as he entered the office.
Two more guys disarmed and dead, he helped his woman over their bodies, looking out the glass on the exit door and into the garage.
There were at least six men that he could see, all similarly dressed in black as the others had been, and Dante took note of their positions, mentally mapping out the strategy to take them out.
“Dante,” the quiet, almost terrified whisper had him turning his neck to look at wide, green eyes. Following her gaze, he looked at the blood on her fingers, not understanding why that would scare her. Not until he saw her look down between her legs.
She was bleeding, and it wasn’t a drop this time.
His heart began to pound as she stared up at him, her eyes shimmering with tears.
No.
The baby.
Fuck, no.
