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I don’t know how long I sit there staring into space.
“Lyric, habibti?” I look up into the jade gaze of Hassan, though he’s brought himself down on my level.
Concern etches his face. “What happened to you?” his voice is soft, calm but his gaze is fraught with intense emotions.
“He — um.” I stop, the words seeming to escape me.
“Lyric?” He sounds alarmed. Shaking me a little, he gets my attention to focus back on him.
“Tell me what happened.” His tone is sharper now, broking no refusal.
Raising a trembling finger, I motion to the back of the room.
Rising, he places a comforting hand on my shoulder before leaving me there for an interminable amount of time.
Minutes tick by, then I hear him speaking to someone on the phone. I hear the heavy tread of his feet as he re-approaches me.
He gets on his hunches facing me. “You did good, sweetheart.” Cupping the unbruised side of my face, he presses a reverent kiss on my forehead.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks. Still, the words don’t come.
Gathering me into the safety of his arms, he gently brushes the hair that came loose in the struggle out of my face.
“A team is going to come to secure this room. I’m having the venue cleared as we speak. Then I will take you home. It will be like nothing ever happened.” All this is whispered into my ear.
“I k-ki—” a firm long finger presses against my lips. His hard gaze focuses on me. He shakes his head. I clamp my mouth shut as I read the communication he’s giving that anyone could be listening.
“There is a terrorist threat. The venue is being cleared, then we are going home. Understood?” He waits for my jerky nod.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, sparrow.” From the look in his eyes, I know he means it.
The shock from the ordeal gradually subsides as I let my husband hold me.
The knowledge settles on me. I saved my life. I’ve been through too much to let some entitled billionaire take my life.
A knock sounds on the door. Hassan sits me back on the settee, rising to move the door.
Two massive men come through the door. Strangers. One has white blood hair, and the other is jet black. Though I’d never seen them before in my life from how Nikko described his brothers, all having silver eyes. I know they are Volk and Kairi Savalle, two of the Bastard Brothers. In the days that followed my Western Cape visit, Hassan told me the violent history of the Bastard Brothers, including their names.
“Nikko says hello, Empress.” The blond says with a heavy Russian accent. His tall lithe counterpart shoots him a dispassionate look, then gives Hassan and me a brief bow.
“I thought he’d send a team.” Hassan says by way of salutation.
“We were in the vicinity.” Volk shrugs, “In case there was another mishap.”
So Nikko was had them in place, there was another attempt on my life.
“Your concerns were correct, it seems. Where are the bodies?” Kairi asks, heading to the rear of the room as if by instinct.
“Chop him up, throw him out to sea or burn him don’t give a fuck,” Hassan says. “Return the women to their families. I will compensate their families for their loss.”
Striding over the clothing rack, Hassan takes down a thick black robe I normally use after performances. Drawing me to my feet, he drapes the voluminous material around me, making sure to cover my head.
Pulling me into the crook of his arms, he whispers, “Let’s go home, songbird.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
SOFT GIRL ERA