1
The smell of gasoline lingers in the air, wafting from the wreckage beside me as I stare up into the barrel of Roman’s gun. His eyes darken just as a gunshot rings through the night. My body flinches as a raw, terror-filled scream tears from deep in my chest, certain I’m dead. But as Roman topples toward me and barely catches himself against the wrecked car, my eyes widen in horror.
A gasp lingers on my lips as I take a mental note of my body. There’s no searing pain, no blood, no life slipping from between my fingers. That bullet was supposed to be mine, yet somehow, I’m still breathing.
The headlights from the wrecked car spread a soft glow through the property as Roman’s pained curse fills the air. He clutches his side as disbelief filters through his obsidian eyes. I watch him in horror, and as he moves his hand away from his waist, there’s just enough light for me to see the bright red blood seeping through the front of his shirt, staining his fingers.
“No,” I breathe as he hovers over me, the gun still in his hand as his hard gaze drops, taking in the stain quickly spreading from his waist.
Rage pulses through his stare and it doesn’t take a genius to know that this isn’t somewhere I want to be. All hell is about to break loose, and I’m stuck on the ground with a shard of glass protruding from my stomach. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
I swallow hard as his eyes shoot back up to mine. “Don’t fucking move.”
Roman spins, immediately clocking the gunman across the expansive property. The man is not alone. Two others stand on either side of him, all three of their guns raised high. It’s hard to see from here, but there’s something eerily familiar about these men.
“Who are they?” I gasp, a soft whimper tearing from my throat the moment the words pass my lips. My hand clutches the shard of glass as my heels dig into the cool grass, desperately trying to propel myself away from Roman and what’s bound to be a fatal shootout.
No one shoots at one of the DeAngelis brothers and expects to get away with their life. If you’re stupid enough to take a shot, then you better make it count. Unfortunately for these fuckers, they just sealed their fate, but I can’t find it within myself to hate them because their recklessness just bought me precious seconds. Without them, I’d already be dead.
Barely a moment has passed when the three strange men begin spreading out, knowing that one missed shot at Roman puts their lives in immediate danger. There’s no doubt about it, they will die tonight, the only question is, will I die along with them?
Roman clocks their every step, somehow managing to keep a skilled eye on all three of them as they move in different directions.
Anger washes over his face and he clenches his jaw, clearly not in the mood to be dealing with this shit while he has his heart set on killing me for the crime he believes I’ve committed against Marcus. He’s unforgiving, brutal, and lethal. A man like Roman doesn’t hang around to ask questions. He acts first, thinks later, and this may be my only shot at keeping myself alive.
Roman groans and crouches down, hiding behind the wrecked car as he looks back at me, irritation strong in his fiery eyes. His jaw is clenched and his breathing labored. It’s clear that the bullet wound through his waist is causing him pain, but it’s not enough to slow him down. He’s a machine, a soldier, just as his father raised him to be.
He reaches for me, and I flinch as he wraps his strong hand around the glass protruding from my stomach. My eyes widen, realizing what he’s about to do. “No, no, no, no, no,” I rush out, the fear overwhelming my already aching body.
Too fucking late.
He grips the glass and yanks it out of my waist as a searing pain tears through my stomach. “FUCK,” I cry, tears brimming in my eyes. The glass is tossed aside, shattering on the wide driveway, but Roman doesn’t give me a moment to recover. He grabs my arm and gives a hard tug, pulling me closer to the wrecked car and keeping me hidden from the three men who want him dead.
“Don’t fucking move,” he demands again, the smell of gasoline getting stronger in the air.
I search his deadly eyes, still trying to pull myself away from the man who wants to end my life. “What does it matter?” I spit, tugging my arm free and holding onto the groan as each little movement reminds me that I was just in a car wreck. “You want me dead anyway. I might as well take my chances with these guys.”