Page 56

I glance back down to Nash still in my lap, teeth chattering, eyes closed. Helpless.

The door explodes open, slamming and then shattering against the wall. I let out a sharp scream as the man I loathe and fear steps forward, his attention zeroed in on Nash, his second-in-command a step behind.

I need to move. Squeeze back to my side, putting more space between me and the general.

But I can't. No, I won't. Nash needs me to protect him while he's unable to protect himself. I’ve taken care of others for the majority of my life. I can do this too. I might not be as capable at fighting as Nash, but I have to try.

Because isn’t that all courage is? Trying when there’s a chance to lose, a chance to fail, yet still doing it? Walking through your fear, stepping into courage as a choice, not a fallback?

Nash wants me to believe in myself. For him, I will.

Determination swirls in my chest, in my heart and mind, building on Nash's belief in me.

I can do this. I can fight.

But the rising fire and fight snuff out the second they rip Nash from my lap. Grappling for him, I fall face first onto the ground.

The two men laugh at me crying in the mud, which only makes me sob harder.

Get up. Fight.

Fight for him.

Words are exchanged above me. I glance up as they haul Nash to his feet and slam his back against the farthest wall. The general holds Nash by the throat and yells in his face, but Nash doesn’t move, doesn’t fight back. Hell, his eyes don’t even open.

Tears fall faster. We never had a chance. And here I was dreaming of my own happy ending.

The first punch the general lands, the shock of it all, keeps me silent. When the second punch snaps his head back, I open my mouth to scream but nothing comes out. With the third, I find my voice, but it's nothing more than a squeak.

"Stop."

They either don't hear me or don’t care.

"Stop hurting him," I say a little louder, a little stronger. But they pay me no attention, too busy laughing and talking over Nash's body slumped on the muddy floor.

On shaky limbs, I push off the ground and stumble forward with arms outstretched to protect Nash, only to be tossed back across the small area like a rag doll. My ass slams against the ground, jarring my teeth.

The bastards don’t even turn.

From the corner, I search Nash’s limp form for any sign of life but find none. Until the general wraps his hands around Nash's right leg, eliciting an animalistic scream of pain from Nash’s lips. My palms rocket up to cover my ears as the general drags the writhing Nash to the center of the room, mere feet from where I sit, petrified.

With Nash’s pain point obvious, the general slams his boot heel onto Nash's right calf. His back arches off the ground as another scream of pain pushes from his heaving lungs.

They laugh.

The bastards fucking laugh at the pain they’re causing the man I love.

"Stop it!" I scream and climb up the wall at my back with my palms, not trusting my shaking legs to not give out. They don't turn. Rage boils in my veins with each kick of their boots against his ribs. Sweat beads along my forehead and rolls down my temples.

Enough.

I turn, searching for anything to use against them. My gaze stops on one of the discarded splintered planks just on the other side of the dividing wall. Tightly gripping its end with both hands, I step toward the general and swing at his head with every drop of strength I have left.

And miss my mark. Of course. This isn't one of my damn books.

The board smacks his bicep, sending vibrations down the wood so hard that my grip loosens and my only weapon falls to the ground.

In slow motion, both men’s smiles drop. Their now humorless gazes tilt up from Nash’s body and focus on me.