Page 24 of Her Wicked Promise (The Devil’s Plaything #2)

Eva

T he impact comes without warning—a massive armored truck slamming into the rear car of our convoy with the force of a freight train. The sound is catastrophic: metal screaming against metal, glass shattering in crystalline waterfalls, the deep boom of engines colliding at high speed.

Our sedan lurches forward violently, throwing me against the seat back hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs. My driver swears, his knuckles white as he fights to maintain control.

“Rear vehicle’s down!” Leon’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Get us out of here—now!”

Through the rear window, I catch a glimpse of twisted metal and spreading flames where my security team’s car used to be. The acrid smell of burning fuel begins to seep into the air.

Another vehicle—a black SUV with reinforced plating—swerves into our lead car, effectively boxing us in. The coordination is flawless, professional. This isn’t some opportunistic street gang or desperate competitors. This is military-grade planning.

Gunfire erupts around us like deadly fireworks.

Muzzle flashes strobe through the tinted windows as my remaining guards engage the attackers.

Bullets ping off our reinforced doors and bulletproof glass with sounds like steel rain, each impact a reminder of how thin the line is between safety and death.

My stomach clenches with familiar dread, but I keep my expression impassive. This isn’t my first ambush—won’t be my last if I survive the next ten minutes. But something feels different this time.

This time, I have something far too precious to lose. I can’t leave this world without telling Robin Rivers that I love her.

Because I do. God help me, I do love her.

So I need to survive.

As chaos reigns outside, my mind betrays me with flashes of Robin’s face.

Her smile just a few hours ago when she talked about discussing our future.

The way she laughed when Maisie spilled orange juice on her dress at the restaurant.

The fierce protectiveness in her eyes when she talks about her family.

If she had been in this car…

The thought hits as hard as the goddamn ambush. If Robin had been caught in this crossfire…

Bile rises in my throat. I force it down, force myself to focus on the immediate threat, but the images won’t stop coming. Robin’s blue eyes wide with terror. And then worse: Robin trying to shield her siblings from bullets meant for me .

“Clear a path!” Leon barks into his comm. “Priority Alpha! Get the boss out!”

Our driver floors the accelerator, the powerful engine roaring as we slam into one of the attacking vehicles.

The impact is tremendous—I’m thrown sideways against the door, my shoulder absorbing the brunt of the collision as pain shocks me back into the present moment.

The attackers’ car spins away, tires screaming against asphalt.

But there are more.

There are always more.

Through the spider-webbed rear window, I watch one of my most loyal guards—a man whom I know has daughters of his own—take a bullet to the chest as he lays down covering fire for our escape. He collapses and doesn’t move.

I don’t allow myself to look away. Another life lost for me. Another family that will receive a death notification because I exist, because of my choices, because violence is my stock in trade.

“Incoming left!” Leon shouts.

I brace myself as another SUV clips our rear quarter panel, sending us into a controlled skid. Our driver, another veteran of countless close calls, corrects expertly, but the maneuver sends me sliding across the leather seat.

As we swerve to avoid a head-on collision with a third attacker, my head slams against the reinforced window frame with sickening force. Stars explode behind my eyelids, bright and sharp.

I press a hand to my temple. When I pull it away, my fingers come back slick with blood.

“Eva?” Leon’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” I mutter, though my vision blurs at the edges and the world tilts at an uncomfortable angle. Concussion, probably. I’ve had enough of them to recognize the symptoms.

But even through the disorientation, one thought cuts through with crystal clarity: Robin could have been here. She could have been killed because of me.

The car finally manages to ram through the attackers’ blockade, tires smoking as we burst free of the kill zone. And then Leon is crawling into the back seat with surprising nimbleness for such a large man.

“Hospital,” he calls back to the driver. “Now.”

“No,” I snap reflexively. “We can’t risk?—”

“Non-negotiable.” His dark eyes are fierce. “You’re concussed, probably worse. We’re going to the hospital.”

I want to argue, but the world keeps tilting sideways and my thoughts feel like they’re swimming through molasses. Leon has been taking care of me since I was sixteen years old. If he says hospital, I go to the hospital.

Even if every instinct screams that showing weakness—any weakness—could get us all killed.

Happily, the private medical facility that Leon directs us to is a discreet operation that asks no questions and keeps no records.

I sit upright on the examination gurney despite the nurse’s protests, a small bandage covering the gash on my temple.

My vision has mostly cleared, but my head still throbs with each heartbeat.

“The scans show a moderate concussion,” the doctor explains. “You should rest, avoid strenuous activity?—”

The door bursts open so violently that it hits the wall with a bang that makes everyone in the room flinch. Robin rushes in, her face pale. “Eva! Oh my God—are you okay?”

She’s wearing the same clothes she had on when I left for the meeting, but her hair is disheveled as if she’s been running her hands through it, and there are tear tracks on her cheeks. The sight of her distress is infuriating.

I do not want this woman to have to worry about me like she worries about her siblings. She has enough concerns. So I manage a smirk that feels more natural than the fear churning in my gut. “It takes more than an armored truck to kill me, little bird.”

But as Robin crosses the room and throws her arms around me, something inside me goes very still. Her warmth, her relief, the way she clings to me like I’m her anchor in a storm—it should comfort me.

Instead, it terrifies me more than any ambush ever could.

Because I can see it now, with perfect clarity, the same way I saw it while the attack was going on. Robin in that car instead of safe at the hotel. Robin caught in crossfire meant for me. Robin’s blood on my hands because I was selfish enough to think I could have love and power both.

And the children. They rode in those cars themselves to the restaurant. Maisie’s bright laugh could have been silenced forever, all because her sister caught the attention of a monster.

It was a fool’s desire.

All my hopes—bringing the kids to the castle, the idea Robin and I could have something normal, imagining a world where we could coexist without consequences—they all crumble to ash in my mind.

“You scared me to death,” Robin whispers against my neck, her voice thick with tears.

I think of my guards lying dead on Vegas asphalt. Of their families, who will receive death notifications tomorrow. Of the target I’ve painted on every person I’ve ever allowed myself to care about.

“I won’t do it again,” I promise softly. “Never again.”

Because I’ve already made my decision.

The woman I love will hate me for it. But she’ll be alive to hate me, and her family will be safe, and that’s all that matters.

I glance around at the medical staff, at Leon, at my remaining guards. “Give us the room, please.”