The sound of his scream echoed through the room as Ryker drew the knife through his flesh. He took everything, and only when my father sobbed and slumped in the chair as his blood pooled out of him did I raise my gun and give him the mercy of death.
With that confirmed, I turned and strode out of the warehouse.
Because my wife was waiting.
???
There was no blood on me when I came home. Nothing to show that I'd killed another man.
Three in one day wasn't a record for me, but I knew it would make Samara feel uncertain.
So I was grateful for the absence of blood. At least she wouldn't have to see the body or be reminded of what I'd done. She was flat on her back in bed, wide awake and looking up at me when I stepped in. I knew she wouldn't be able to sleep on her side, and I wondered if I should sleep in a spare room for the time being. I always pulled her into me while I slept, and I didn't want to hurt her.
"I'm going to sleep in a guest room, so I don't hurt you," I told her, feeling dejected. After nearly losing her, after nearly losing everything that mattered to me, all I wanted to do was curl up in bed with my wife and hold her. I wanted to make love to her, and from the way her eyes shone she knew as well as I did that it couldn't happen.
"I can't sleep without you," she murmured, and I tugged off my clothes against my better judgement. Her weight in the bed next to me soothed something inside me, the part of me that felt ragged and torn by the near loss of her.
She was alive.
She was with me.
That was all that mattered in the end.
"Did you—"
"Yes," I grunted in response. "I'll do anything to keep you safe. Whatever it takes. I'll kill as many men as I need to and burn the world to the ground if it means you're safe and where you belong—with me." She snuggled her face into my shoulder, and I admired the strength it must have taken, how hard it must have been, for her to fight off two fully grown men and walk away with only a broken rib.
She was so small, my tiny little spitfire of a wife.
And the men she'd fought were much bigger than her. Emilio was trained.
"I think Sadie should be the godmother," I whispered.
"Hmmm?" Her sleepy murmur made the last ragged shiver inside me melt away, and I chuckled, tucking my head down so that it touched the top of hers and her copper hair tickled my face.
"Of our first baby. Sadie should be the Godmother," I whispered.
She sniffled, and my heart broke all over again. "I think so too," she said back. It was settled, as simple as that. The woman who had taught Samara to defend herself and given her the skills she needed to survive was the only person I could even consider in light of the day we'd had. "Goodnight, my Stallion."
"Goodnight, Little Dove," I chuckled against her hair, and fell asleep with the world next to me.
Epilogue
Samara
Two months later
I walked in the front door to the scent of Lino working his magic in the kitchen. It seemed like he was always in the kitchen lately.
I wondered
if it was the male version of nesting, even if he didn't know I was pregnant just yet. I wondered if he sensed the life growing inside me the way I did. Knowing how in tune with me he was, it seemed likely.
I choked down the nausea that threatened my stomach, the smell of bacon cooking turning it sour. I didn't want to let on, didn't want to give away the surprise too early. The little box in my purse made me want to thrust it at him immediately, and excitement helped chase away the nausea. I'd been lucky thus far, but I could almost feel it coming to an end. Like I'd wake up to the worst morning sickness yet in just a few days.
"How was work?" Lino asked, stepping away from the stove long enough to lean down and kiss me hello.
"It was good. Nothing unusual really." The truth was, I'd stopped loving my job. I didn't hate it, or hate the work I did, but I couldn't imagine leaving a baby behind during the day to go there.