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Cole’s eyes flicked between Andrey and me as he pointed the gun. "Get the fuck away from her."
Andrey reached into his jacket and produced a gun aimed at Cole's forehead. With Drake right behind him, Cole didn't even flinch. He held his ground. Rhys was a few paces behind and off to his left, armed and ready to shoot.
In a flash, Andrey grabbed me before I could run. He held me firmly and pressed the gun to my temple. "Do not fucking move. I will shoot her."
"No, you won't," Cole challenged. "Your brother wouldn't allow you to live if you did."
"I will tell him you killed her," Andrey snapped.
"If you touch a hair on her head, you won't live long enough to tell Viktor shit.”
Cole took another step toward us, breathing deeply through his nose. His eyes found mine, and a hint of sadness crossed over his face.
Andrey curled his muscular arm around me, pinning me into a position that made it impossible to move my arm.
"You have one second to get your fucking hands off her," Cole shouted, his image blurring as Andrey clamped down harder on my throat.
They couldn't shoot Andrey without risking my life. One wrong move, and he could lodge a bullet into my skull. His finger was on the trigger, and I broke out in a cold sweat from head to toe.
Rhys cleared his throat, drawing my attention to him. He dipped his head down as if trying to communicate with me. I didn't understand what he was telling me.
At least not at first.
His eyes drifted to my hand. And then I realized I was still holding the piece of glass.
I angled my body to the right and dislodged my arm from Andrey’s grasp. Just enough to drag the glass across his throat. One swift slice into his skin, and his blood sprayed my face. His gun fired as he staggered backward.
Cole ran toward me and tackled me to the ground as another shot was fired. He covered me with his muscular body and cradled the back of my head. "I got you, Grace.”
Andrey lay in a pool of blood, his eyes open and staring back at me.
He was dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Cole helped me sit up and pulled me between his legs. I didn't realize I was shaking so severely until he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me to his chest.
I killed my uncle.
The man with the scar on his thumb drifted into my mind. I didn't want to go back there.
No.
No.
No.
But I couldn't stop the thoughts.
The blood on the floor. There was so much blood pooling around my dead uncle. And as I stared at the crimson glistening on the marble floor, my brain transported me to another place.
Men storm through the front door, rushing into the house with weapons. A red dot shines on my father's forehead. He grabs the gun at his waistband and raises it to defend himself.
The men shoot at him, but the bullet grazes his arm and goes straight into my mother's chest. She tumbles to the marble floor. Her blood seeps through the white blouse and onto my cheek. Blood pools around her body that is painfully still.
