Page 37

The Praetorian Guard found us.

How stupid I was to think we would be safe here.

That Doctore’s men had already moved on.

These guys must have stayed behind to make sure all the survivors were snuffed out.

But I refuse to go out this way.

I lunge for the man closest to me, snapping his neck before the others can stop me.

Amos joins me a moment later, fighting the four remaining men.

But our efforts are for naught.

Within minutes, we are overpowered.

A tall man with bleach-blonde hair and a crooked nose grabs me from behind, pressing a knife to my throat.

Amos roars in anger, throwing one more punch before he’s subdued by the three other men.

Still, he fights, trying to loosen himself from their grasp to get to me.

“Let her go!” he shouts.

“Nah, I don’t think so. It’s been a while since I had a good lay. I think I’ll try this one out.” The bleach-blonde man says with a cockney accent.

An accent I recognize.

Georgie. One of the guards who used to escort me to the Colosseum.

He doesn’t seem to recognize me.

“Far from home, are you?” I turn my head around and spit at him.

But I don’t try to get out of his grasp.

I need him to take me somewhere private so I can get his knife and gut him.

Then sneak up on the others.

He takes my bait, pulling me backward.

Amos must not realize what I’m doing because he loses his shit, screaming and shrieking at the men holding him.

“Don’t you fucking touch her. You’re dead. You’re fucking dead!”

I want to tell him I’ll be okay, but I can’t give my plans away.

Then he says something that tears me apart, making me want to scratch my plans and gut this man right here and now.

“Touch the woman I love and I’ll fucking kill you all!”

One of the guys holding him back punches him in the face.

Blood instantly pours from his nose, causing me to panic as I shout for him.

“Amos!”

Before I can do anything more, Georgie throws me to the ground of the home office located down the hall.

I can still hear Amos shouting from the living room, though each word is interrupted as he takes what I’m sure is a harsh beating.

Stay alive is the only thing I allow myself to think.

Georgie kneels in front of me, pointing his knife in my face.

“Now be a good girl and pull down those pants.”

I spit in his face again.

This time, he reciprocates with a slap.

Behind him, the door opens and closes, followed by a voice that tickles the cobwebs of my memory.

“What’s going on here?”

As if caught stealing candy from children, Georgie stands to attention and explains, “I was only having a bit of fun, sir.”

“Fun? Is that right?” says the man behind Georgie.

I stretch my neck to see who it is, and every single cell in my body freezes.

Before I can stop myself, his name slips from my lips.

“Jonah?”

“You know this slut, Legatus?” Georgie asks, turning to look at his commander.

“Legatus,” I laugh, cooling down my rage at the hilariousness of Doctore and his Roman obsession.

The other side of my face is met with another slap as I’m told to shut up.

“That’s enough, guardian,” Jonah says.

“Don’t you recognize your captive?”

Georgie takes a better look at me.

When his eyebrows shoot up toward his bleach-blonde hair, I know he remembers exactly who I am.

A greedy smile spreads across his face.

“Doctore will be happy to have you back.”

I don’t have any time to even throw a nasty glare before Jonah says, “Continue with your…fun.”

Jonah spares a glance at me, showing no recognition for who we once were to each other.

Ice has replaced the once warm brown eyes I used to love.

He makes no move as Georgie stabs his knife into the floor, carving a shallow cut on my cheek.

The power move brings a smile to his face, thinking he’s terrified me into paralysis.

When he reaches for my pants, I reach for the knife he’s left so close within my reach.

Before I can pull it out of the carpeted floor, Georgie freezes above me, his eyes bulging from the sockets in shock as a large hunting knife pierces through his skull.

The knife retracts, causing Georgie to fall in my direction.

I quickly roll out of the way, grabbing his small knife to hold up to Jonah’s massive blade.

What I thought was the tip of a hunting knife turns out to be a machete.

Pushing through the memories of those kind brown eyes, I take a step to attack, but my feet won’t budge.

I might hate Jonah for how he treated me in the bunker, but could I kill him?

Especially after he just saved my life?

Why did he save my life?

“You’re thinking very loudly, Shortcake. Unfortunately, we don’t have time for a catch-up. My men have got your man tied up in the living room and are hungry for blood.”

I growl at Jonah’s words, anger boiling inside me.

“Every ounce of blood your men spill will be returned a thousandfold.”

“So, you are willing to kill?” The coldness in his eyes thaws just enough for me to recognize the boy I once knew.

The innocent boy who would only use a machete if he was playing a violent video game.

As if realizing his slip, he pulls himself back into the cold, heartless man I remember from the bunker.

The man who survived and thrived in Doctore’s Novus Seclorum.

I nod, flipping the knife in my hand to get a better grip, just like Amos had shown me months ago.

Jonah motions me out through the doorway of the office with a nod.

As I walk in front of him, he grabs the hand holding my newly found knife, twisting it backward.

Before I can scream at him, Jonah furiously whispers, “Don’t drop the knife.”

Do I trust him?

No. But what other choice do I have?

I allow him to push me down the hall and into the living room where three men take turns using Amos as a human punching bag.

He’s unconscious. All body parts are intact though.

And no puncture wounds.

A sigh of relief will have to wait until we are out of trouble.

Jonah twists my arm again, producing the perfect scream to bring his men to attention.

“This little bitch killed Georgie. Who’d like to have a go at her?”

My look of pure hate quickly melts away as Jonah throws me to the ground.

I hold on to the knife, keeping it from view until the first douchebag attempts to grab me.

Swinging my arm around, I slice off two of his fingers.

His blood-curdling cry is cut short as I roll myself to standing, and swing my arm up, carving a new mouth on his throat.

This one screams a river of blood.

Two men remain now, menacing hate radiating from their faces.

I don’t give them a chance to make the first move.

I run toward the couch as they let Amos’s unconscious body fall to the ground.

One of the men pulls out a gun, grazing me with a bullet before I sink my blade in the other man’s spine.

Using him as a human shield, I charge at the idiot wasting bullets on me.

Then I throw the repulsive swine I’m holding into the armed idiot’s hand, knocking the gun from his grasp.

We circle each other, his eyes darting around the room and back at me.

“Sir?” he calls out, looking for Jonah who comes out of nowhere, swinging his machete high.

The man’s head falls to the ground with a thump.

“Legatus?” a voice from outside shouts.

“Is everything all right in there? We heard gunshots.”

The pounding of feet on the porch outside echo the pounding in my chest. Jonah motions me down and I silently obey, crouching over to where Amos lies crooked on the ground in front of a couch.

I listen to his even breathing as Jonah talks to his men.

When I hear him giving orders for the men to comb the house for more hostiles, I collapse on top of Amos, playing dead.

I hear five sets of feet march down the hallway to the back of the house and up the stairs.

Jonah startles me as he crouches over Amos’ head.

“Take the two guardians in the back. I’ll take the three upstairs,” he whispers, then points at the dead men surrounding Amos and me.

“But first, make sure those three don’t get back up. You need to sever the spinal cord.”

His words shock me, but I don’t have time to question him as he sprints away.

I do as I’m told though, slicing the spinal cords of the men who hadn’t been decapitated.

Blindly following the orders of a man I hate, whom I distrust down to the marrow of my bones, I take a moment to think about this situation we are in.

Jonah could have easily let his men rape and beat me just for me to heal and have them do it all over again.

He could have captured me and brought me back to the bunker as a conquered prize.

Or perhaps…my thoughts are interrupted as I reach the end of the hallway.

With quiet feet, I slide into the powder room next to the staircase.

When I hear the guardians making their way back from investigating the kitchen and closets, I slam the door in their faces, knocking them on their asses.

A bullet hits me in the stomach, but I power through the pain, grabbing the gun from the woman’s loosened grasp before smashing her nose in with my boot-covered heel while firing a shot into her companion’s head.

Turning them both over, I slice through their spinal cords.

The implications of Jonah’s words scare the shit out of me.

I need answers from him.

But first, I need to make sure Amos is okay.

I sprint back to the living room, hoping that Jonah has dispatched the rest of his men upstairs.

As I loosen the ropes around his hands, Amos wakes up.

He groans loudly, reaching for his head.

I help him sit up, which causes his eyes to fly open.

My arms circle around his waist carefully, but he pulls me in tighter, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

I try to pull out but he won’t let me go, so I give in, lying my head against his solid chest and say, “I love you, too, Amos.”

His response was not what I expected.

“Shit, Lori.” He lets me pull away this time.

“Did you do all this?”

I follow his gaze, finally breathing a sigh of relief and silently hoping that he isn’t deflecting from the words I spoke to him.

Why would he when he said those very words to me?

Well, not to me, but at me.

Same thing, right? I shrug and say, “I had some help.”

“From who?”

Jonah saunters in from the hallway, weapons looted from his fallen soldiers filling up his arms. He gently drops them to the ground before collapsing on the couch.

“From me.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Amos sounds more curious than angry.

Before Jonah can introduce himself, I answer for him.

“This is Jonah. Jonah Rosenberg. My…ex.”

“What the fuck is he doing here, Copperhead?” The anger in his voice has dissolved all curiosity.

Amos seethes with hate.

If he wasn’t so beat up, I’m sure he’d have Jonah in a headlock, ready to snap his neck.

He turns his golden eyes to me, whispering loud enough for Jonah to hear, “I told you if I ever met this asshole, I’d kill him.”

“And I’d deserve it,” Jonah responds, casually folding his hands behind his head.