Page 69 of Claimed By the Boss

“Stay down,” he commands.

He fires the last rounds across the hood and hits another man in the throat. The final bullet catches a shoulder and spins a body into the street, where it rolls and lands heavily. The slide staysback. Damien reaches to the console, grabs the spare magazine from the narrow slot, and fails to seat it before a hand punches the window wide and latches onto his collar.

Then they all come at once. The door latch snaps. The weight of bodies makes the door groan outward. He braces a boot to kick it shut and takes a crowbar to the shin. He grits his teeth. He almost clears the threshold. An arm snakes under his and pins it. Fingers dig into his hair and the side of his face. The magazine slips, clatters once, and disappears under the seat.

I scream his name. The sound rips my throat raw. I throw the door lock with a slap and feel the frame give when they peel the metal like a tin lid. I lunge across the console and catch his sleeve, fingers locked hard enough to bruise. I beat at the hands that hold him with the gun gripped like a hammer, metal on bone, metal on knuckles, metal on whatever I can reach. They laugh at me.

Someone catches my wrist and twists. The gun drops into the footwell. A palm clamps over my mouth and smashes my head back into the seat. A sour cloth rams between my teeth before I can bite, and the gag pulls tight. Rope. Tape. I taste adhesive and sweat and something sharp. I bite down anyway until my jaw pops and the man curses and tightens the knot.

Damien roars. He plants both feet, twists, and throws two men off balance, then surges forward. He gets one boot to the ground and pulls his shoulder free. He rocks another man back with a headbutt that cracks cartilage. I feel hope shoot through me hot and bright. Then a loop slips around his neck from behind. He sucks a breath and gets his fingers under it before it can cut. Two more men drop their weight onto him and drag. The loop tightens anyway. A knee hits his spine. He goes to one knee andhe is still fighting when they haul him over the threshold and into the street.

I claw at them, flailing without aim. I hit whatever is there. Fingers, shoulders, ears. I claw and scratch and bite through cloth and taste the filthy rag in my mouth and swallow it down to keep from choking. I get a handful of hair and yank and someone screams and shoves me back so hard my head slams the doorframe and white sparks burst across my eyes before the light fades.

24

DAMIEN

The second I see them lay a hand on Lyra, something inside me snaps. Pure, blinding rage scours my chest, hot enough to strip the air from my lungs and drown out everything but my heartbeat, pounding like war drums in my ears.

They think they can touch her. My woman. Mypregnantwoman.

With newfound strength, I twist and dislodge with wire from around my throat.

The man holding the garrot doesn’t have time to recover before my fist crashes into his jaw. The crack echoes down the street, and he drops.

I don’t let him fall. I drag him back up, drive my knee into his gut hard enough that I feel something give, then twist his head until I hear the wet pop of his neck breaking. He crumples, lifeless, to the pavement, and I’m already moving toward the next man.

The second man lunges at me with a knife, shouting something in Russian, but the roar of my blood drowns it out. I catch his wrist, wrench until the blade clatters to the asphalt, and slam hishead into the hood of my car. Once. Twice. Three times. Blood smears across the metal, and his body slides to the ground. I step over him, my hands already closing around the throat of the third.

This one fights harder, clawing at my arms and kicking, but it doesn’t matter. I squeeze until his eyes bulge and his skin turns a blue-gray. When his body finally goes limp, I let him drop like trash.

I’m still looking for the next one when I hear the roar of engines. Tires screech as several black SUVs tear onto the street, and my men spill out in a rush of steel and gunfire. The air goes thick with the deafening rattle of bullets. The few remaining Vasiliev scum scatter, but they don’t make it far. My men cut them down one by one, their bodies hitting the ground in dull thuds I barely register.

Alek is suddenly in front of me, his hands on my shoulders, checking for injuries.

“Boss—”

“I’m fine,” I growl, shrugging him off. My eyes are already scanning the street, but all I see is the empty space where Lyra should be. “We need to get Lyra.”

Radimir comes up beside us, his gun still smoking. “Where is she?” he asks.

“They took her.” My voice is low, dangerous. “We’re going after them.”

There’s no hesitation. We pile into the nearest SUV. I shove Alek into the back and take the passenger seat. Radimir jumps behind the wheel, and I bark out the direction I saw the enemy car go.My chest feels tight, like I can’t take a full breath until I have her back in my arms.

Radimir floors it, the engine snarling as we tear through the streets. My eyes are locked on the road ahead, every muscle in my body coiled and ready to rip apart whatever stands between Lyra and me.

Minutes stretch into something unbearable. The road forks, and I spot faint tire marks veering right.

“There!” I bark.

We take the turn so fast I’m thrown against the door. The SUV fishtails before it straightens, the headlights catching nothing but empty asphalt and shadows.

I know before Radimir says it. We’ve lost them.

The admission burns worse than any wound I’ve ever taken. My fist slams into the dashboard hard enough to crack the plastic, and I curse, the sound raw in my throat.

“Don’t stop,” I snarl. “They can’t be far.”