Page 72 of No Longer Mine (Rags & Riches #2)

Chapter Sixty-One

Dimitri

The moment I saw her on the floor—in just her bra and panties, blood dripping from her ankles, one arm hanging at an unnatural angle—something inside me detonated.

The man who dropped her was already backing away, hand hovering near his belt like he thought he had time to reach for something.

He didn’t.

I closed the distance in three strides.

My elbow cracked across his temple before he could blink. He staggered and I grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the wall, and drove my knee into his gut with enough force to make him drop.

He wheezed, folding in on himself, but I wasn’t done. I gripped the back of his head and brought it down—once, twice—against the steel doorframe until he crumpled at my feet.

I spun to her.

“Scarlett,” Her name left my lips gently.

She was trying to speak, her eyes wild and glassy, one shoulder clearly dislocated with her hands still bound behind her back.

“Hey,” I dropped to my knees beside her, heart pounding harder than it ever had in my life. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Her breath hitched. She tried to nod.

Gently—as gently as I could manage with fury still pulsing under my skin—I peeled the tape from her mouth. She cried out and I hated the sound more than anything I’d ever heard.

Her lips trembled and she shook her head. “He—he’s gone. Sinclair—he’s gone.”

“I know,” I said tightly, jaw clenched. “All that matters right now is that I have you, do you understand me?

I slid my blade from my belt and started cutting through the rope at her wrists.

“We’re going to reset your shoulder. I need you to trust me. Okay?”

She nodded as more tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I’m going to kill every last one of them for this,” I said quietly.

I slid the last rope off her wrists and cradled her broken body into my arms. Her breathing was shallow, her skin clammy. The angle of her arm was all wrong, and every small movement made her wince.

“I have to put it back,” I said gently, brushing the hair from her face. “It’s dislocated.”

She swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“I need you to breathe with me, alright? Look at me.”

She nodded, her pupils huge, her jaw locked tight against the pain. But she looked at me—God, she looked at me—and I saw the fight in her eyes.

“I’m going to count to three,” I said softly, steadying her with one hand at the elbow and the other against her shoulder. “And on three, it’s going to go back in.”

“Dimitri—” she whispered.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I won’t let go.”

She clenched her jaw. “Okay.”

“One.”

Crack.

I shoved it back into place on one, before she could brace or tense or scream. Her back arched and her cry tore through the hallway. But then she was breathing again. Her arm fell back into place, limp but aligned. The worst of it was over.

I caught her before she slumped sideways.

“I hate you,” she whispered into my shoulder.

“I know,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

Her arms—free now—wrapped weakly around my neck. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“From now on, you’re going to see me so much, you’re going to get sick of me,” I said.

I stood, lifting her carefully into my arms, her body trembling but alive. The rage hadn’t left me—it was simmering beneath the surface—but for now, relief flooded in like a wave crashing against my ribs.

Don rounded the corner carrying my mother, and I exhaled for the first time in what felt like hours.

My mother’s face was streaked with mascara and tears, but she was alive. Her cheeks were bright pink and her blouse was torn. She blinked slowly when she saw me, then Scarlett in my arms. Her nod was barely a breath, but I saw it. She was telling me to get her out.

I gave Don a look and he nodded back. We didn’t have time for words. Sirens wailed outside, echoing louder now, growing closer with every second.

I pressed a kiss to Scarlett’s temple as we moved. “I’ve got you. We’re almost free.”

The halls of my father’s penthouse—once pristine and curated—now looked like the ruins of a crumbling empire. Paintings askew. Blood on the floor. A shattered vase. The secrets of this place had spilled into the open.

But not him.

Sinclair was gone. I should’ve known the bastard had more than one exit. Hidden rooms, false doors, and buried tunnels—I’d underestimated how deep his contingency plans ran.

I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Don led us out through a secondary stairwell—one that bypassed the lobby entirely. I cradled Scarlett tighter as we slipped into the alley behind the building. A black SUV waited there with the engine already running. Thank God for my brothers.

“What in the actual fuck?” Someone shouted from inside of the van.

Ivan froze as Don helped our mother into the back seat, tucking a coat over her trembling frame. Ivan’s jaw flexed, his hands curling into fists at his sides. I didn’t have the words to explain. None of us did.

Ace was behind the wheel, stone-faced, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he reversed away from the curb. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, checking on Mom, then Scarlett, then me.

Everyone was accounted for.

Everyone but our father, who’d escaped and no one knew how. It was probably a lack of man power on my end… Actually, I knew it was exactly that.

I slid into the back seat, cradling Scarlett like she was glass—because, after everything, she felt like it. She hadn’t made a sound since we’d left the apartment. But her eyes stayed open and alert as she watched everything happening around her.

The doors slammed shut, and the SUV peeled off into the night.

Griffin looked pale. “What’s going to happen now?”

Benson’s voice crackled through the car speaker. “He got away in a helicopter posted on the top of the building. I’m currently tracing his flight path.”

I didn’t say a word. My grip on Scarlett tightened, grounding myself in the reality that she was here, safe and breathing.

Ace broke the silence. “We’ll get him. One way or another.”

Scarlett stirred in my arms, her voice barely more than a rasp. “Not if I get to him first.”

The SUV went quiet.

Then Ivan leaned forward between the seats, a wicked grin creeping across his face. “Now that would be the girl Dimitri would fall for.”

I didn’t smile. I just looked down at her—worn, bruised, but still burning bright beneath it all. “Where are we heading?” Ace asked, eyes still flicking between mirrors.

“My brownstone,” I answered quietly.“Benson. Open the garage when we pull up.”

“You got it,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll keep tracking Sinclair.”

A pause.

Then, from the back seat, a softer voice.

“Wait,” my mother said. “Benson?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cristof?”

She straightened a little beneath the coat Don had tucked around her. “Please hire a security detail for me… and keep eyes on the upstate estate. In case he goes there. If you need passwords, I’ll send them.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of everything.”

I exhaled a shaky breath. My mother—always elegant, always proper—should never have been dragged into this. And until Sinclair was in the ground or behind bars, she would never truly be free.

From the passenger seat, Alexei turned to look back at her. “You can stay with us, if you’d like.”

She smiled faintly, the lines in her face deeper now. “I appreciate that. But I’d like to live my life on my own terms from now on.”

No one argued.