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Fuck the witnesses. This will feel good.
“Timofey!” Piper yells just before security rips Kreshnik out of my hands.
The security guard has five of his buddies with him. They pull me away from Kreshnik and lead the man I’m going to murder down the hallway.
“Calm down,” the guard says. “Relax, man.”
But I can’t relax when the man who killed my son is being escorted to safety.
I look over and Piper is standing next to a guard. The man has his hand on her arm, holding her away from the chaos. Protecting her.
She meets my eyes, and I see a sudden flash of something new. Something vicious.
She nods. “Go get him.”
God, I love this woman.
Without hesitating, I rip away from the security guard holding me, shove a second one back into the crowd, and run headlong through the crowd after Kreshnik.
26
PIPER
We need to get out of here.
It’s the only thing I could think of as Timofey lifted Kreshnik off the ground. As the intensity of the moment swelled and shattered.
I need to get Timofey out of here.
But then the guards came. They whisked Kreshnik away. And Timofey looked at me.
In that one look, I saw all of the heartbreak. All of the pain and the torment. I saw the rage.
I knew instantly what he wanted. It’s what I want, too.
The man who kidnapped and hurt Benjamin is not only still breathing; he’s walking away. Being led away, actually. Protected by security guards who have no idea the kinds of atrocities he has committed.
If it hurts me to see, I know it’s killing Timofey. Which is why when his eyes meet mine, I nod.
“Go get him.”
As soon as I say it, Timofey is nothing more than a flash of movement. He tears out of the arms of the guard holding him, plows his shoulder into the man across from him, and then weaves nimbly through the gathered crowd of rubberneckers. A woman with a neck pillow has her phone held up to record the whole thing, but Timofey deftly knocks it out of her hand as he passes.
If things weren’t so tense, I would be fanning myself from the sheer grace of it all.
“What the—” The guard holding me lunges forward and stops. He glances back, sees that I’m not going anywhere, and then takes off with his coworkers after Timofey.
An elderly woman grabs my wrist. “Are you okay, dear? What was all that about?”
The passengers still lingering are starting to whisper. Some are moving closer to see what I’m going to say. But all I can think about is that Timofey isn’t here.
He’s dealing with the man who killed his son… by himself.
I want to be there to support him, whether he rips Kreshnik limb from limb or not. But more than that—wherever he is, that’s where I want to be.
“Sit down, honey.” The older woman tries to lead me to a bench. “You’re in shock.”
“No, I’m not. I need to go.”
