Page 41

S antos is staring me down, the cold steel of the gun biting into my forehead.

I am frozen like a deer in headlights.

I don’t blink at all and my eyes burn

This is it. I’m going to die.

My heart beats wildly in my chest, hammering against my ribs, but my mind slows.

Like the moment before impact, the stretch of time between the snap of a trigger and the bullet finding its home.

I think of Sammy. Of his touch. His voice. His love.

When I don’t think I can take the torture of waiting anymore, an explosion blinds and deafens me temporarily—and all hell breaks loose.

Andrea’s scream cuts through the air like a siren, raw and terrified.

The doors explode open.

Santos spins, his grip loosening just enough for me to stumble back.

A flood of gunfire rains down like a storm. Bullets tear through the air, shattering bodies, furniture, glass—everything.

I should be looking for my father, my uncles— the men tearing through Santos’ ranks like angels of death.

But I don’t.

Because I see him.

Sammy.

And he is a monster.

Not the man I wake up next to. Not the lover who worships me in the dead of night.

No. This is something else. Something ruthless. Something built from blood and war.

And he is mine. All mine. The realization sends emotion unfurling through me.

His eyes lock onto Santos, his steps unyielding.

Santos sees him, too. Sees death coming for him.

“Come at me, Sammy! Come on!” he snarls, lifting his gun, steadying his grip.

I scream as he fires.

Sammy jerks to the side, the bullet tearing into his shoulder— but he doesn’t stop.

Santos fires again.

The second bullet sinks into his leg, a burst of red spreading across his dark pants.

But he keeps coming.

Sammy never even hesitates.

His lips curl back in something almost like a smile, but there’s nothing human about it.

His body moves like a shadow, like a blade slipping through the cracks of light.

Santos isn’t fast enough. No one is.

Three swipes.

That’s all it takes.

Three precise, brutal slashes from the knife in Sammy’s hand—across Santos’ right thigh, his gut, and then deep— so deep —into his throat.

Santos staggers back, hands clutching his neck, choking, drowning in his own blood.

His eyes widen, wild, unseeing.

It’s over before his brain even catches up.

His body crumples to the floor, twitching.

Already dead.

Sammy doesn’t even watch him die.

His hazel eyes— so familiar, so terrifyingly cold —are on me now.

Only me.

“Sammy,” I mumble and I am a sobbing mess.

“Pixie,” he murmurs, stepping over Santos’ corpse like it’s nothing more than trash on the pavement.

The knife drips blood onto the floor. His blood. Santos’ blood. Everyone’s blood.

And then his hands are on me, tearing through the binds at my wrists.

I fall forward, but of course, he is there.

He catches me, because he always will.

His arms come around me like a cage and a sanctuary all at once.

I feel his lips against my temple, his chest shuddering against mine, his heartbeat thundering.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Pixie, answer me.”

I can’t stop shaking.

“You saved me. I'm okay. B-but you—you've been shot!”

“It's nothing. Flesh wounds.” His voice is rough, his breath unsteady, but he doesn’t let me go. “Andrea?”

“I'm good. I'm okay,” she cries out, as Uncle Nico frees her from her restraints, his hands firm but gentle.

Then I hear him.

“Aella!”

My father.

Barreling toward us, his face twisted in rage and relief.

Sammy tenses beside me, but he doesn’t fight it.

He lets me go.

I barely register that it’s the first time my father has ever held me with fear still in his veins, his strong arms wrapping me up so tightly it almost hurts.

I let him, because I know—he almost lost me tonight.

But then he does the unthinkable.

He turns to Sammy, and he hands me back to him with a nod of respect.

“I’m taking her home,” Sammy growls, attempting to stand.

His blood is staining his shirt, his pants, and for the first time since the fight began, he wobbles.

I move under his arm, trying to hold him up.

“No! We have to go to a hospital!”

“No hospitals.” He shakes his head, teeth clenched, eyes blazing. Still not done. “I need to clean this up first, then home.”

“Really?” Dad steps forward, expression unreadable, voice steel and fire. “No way, son. I got this.”

Sammy blinks.

I freeze.

“You’re taking her home. Now. A doctor will meet you there. My driver will get you back safely. Your father and Josef are en route with a team from Sigma International to secure everything. Clean-up crews have already been dispatched.”

Sammy stares at him, sizing him up.

“Are you sure, Mr. Fury?” His voice is still dark, still dripping with murder.

“Fuck yes, I’m sure.” Dad crosses his arms, eyeing him. Challenging him. “Gotta keep my little girl happy. And for whatever goddamn reason, she’s decided you make her happy.”

Dad’s lips twitch. “I don’t see it.”

But the smirk that follows?

Progress.

“Thank you, Dad.” My voice cracks, and for the first time since all this started, I realize, I almost died tonight.

I should be dead. But I’m not.

Because Sammy came for me.

Because I have a family willing to burn the world down for me.

And the realization hits hard.

“ H ow did you find me?” I whisper.

Sammy hesitates.

His fingers twitch against my back.

Then—gruffly, unapologetically he tells me.

“Uh, well, actually, Aella—” He clears his throat. “Tracking device. In your ring.”

I stare at him. Then at my ring. And back again.

My fierce, relentless, overprotective husband.

He shrugs.

“What? Come on, Pixie, you know me by now.”

I do.

I really do.

And right now?

I don’t even care if he is ridiculously overprotective. He just saved my life.

I press my face into his chest, feel the steady beat of his heart, and breathe him in.

Because Sammy is taking me home.

And nothing else matters.