Page 58 of Knuckles & Knives

“What is it?” I ask quietly.

“It’s too quiet,” he murmurs. “Where’s Marcus?”

I glance around, realizing he’s right. Marcus should be at his usual station, monitoring security feeds and communications. Instead, his bank of screens is dark.

“Axel,” I call out, keeping my voice casual. “Where’s Marcus?”

Axel looks up from the fighter he’s coaching, and his wild energy shifts into deadly focus. “Said he was checking the basement storage. That was twenty minutes ago.”

Dom’s hand moves to his gun. “Get behind me.”

“Dom—”

“Now, Raven.”

The lights go out.

Emergency lighting kicks in immediately, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. In the sudden shadows, I see shapes moving—too many shapes coming from too many directions.

“It’s a trap,” Dom growls, drawing his weapon as the first shot rings out.

Chaos erupts around us. Men in tactical gear emerge from positions that should have been impossible to reach undetected—behind the bar, in the VIP boxes, even from the ring itself. This isn’t a random attack. They’ve been inside, waiting, planning.

I see the sniper’s red dot dancing across my chest a split second before Dom sees it too. His reaction is instantaneous and instinctive. He throws himself in front of me just as the rifle cracks.

The bullet meant for my heart hits Dom in the shoulder instead, spinning him around and sending him crashing against the bar. Blood blooms across his shirt as he slides down the polished surface.

“Dom!” I scream, dropping beside him as gunfire erupts around us.

His face is pale but his eyes are focused, one hand pressed to his wound while the other still grips his gun. “Stay down,” he grinds out through clenched teeth.

But I can see more shooters moving in, trying to get a clear shot at us. Axel appears like a ghost, his movements fluid death as he eliminates two attackers before they can fire. His face when he sees Dom bleeding is absolutely murderous.

“How bad?” he asks, sliding into cover beside us.

“Through and through,” Dom manages. “Missed the lung, but I’m losing blood fast.”

Kieran and Marcus burst through a side entrance, both armed and clearly having fought their way in from wherever they’d been ambushed. Marcus’s usually pristine appearance is disheveled, blood splattered across his shirt—not his own, judging by his deadly calm expression.

“Coordinated attack,” Marcus reports tersely, taking position to cover our flank. “They disabled communications first, then moved to eliminate us systematically.”

“How many?” Kieran asks, his ice-blue eyes scanning for threats.

“At least fifteen confirmed,” Axel replies, reloading with practiced efficiency. “Professional grade equipment, military training.”

I’m applying pressure to Dom’s wound, trying to stem the bleeding while my heart pounds with terror. He took that bullet for me. Without hesitation, without thinking, he put his body between me and death.

“You idiot,” I whisper fiercely. “You beautiful, brave idiot.”

Dom’s hand covers mine, his grip surprisingly strong despite the blood loss. “Worth it,” he says simply. “Always worth it.”

The firefight continues around us, my three other men working with deadly coordination to eliminate the remainingthreats. When the last attacker falls, the sudden silence is deafening except for Dom’s labored breathing.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend.

“No hospitals,” Dom tries to argue weakly. “Too exposed?—”

“The hell with exposure,” I snap. “You’re bleeding out.”