Page 25 of Puck’N Enemy (Thunder Knights #2)

Mitchikov moves like a predator. He’s silent, methodical, and clearing the space with each step. His gun never wavers.

My grip on my bat tightens as I hear the echo of my own breathing in the silence.

Somewhere deeper in the penthouse, a door creaks.

He gestures toward a hallway. “He’s here,” he says softly. “Stay sharp.”

I nod.

Soon, we reach a set of double doors.

Without any hesitation, Mitchikov kicks them open to reveal a bedroom.

The space is dimly lit with the curtains fully drawn. Only a small bedside lamp illuminates the room before us.

My heart nearly stops as my gaze falls on the figure lying on top of the bed.

Dylan is spread out on the massive bed, naked.

His arms are stretched above his head, wrists handcuffed tightly to the ornate headboard.

His bare chest is pale, almost translucent in the soft light, but streaked with angry red slashes and scattered bite marks.

Bruises ring his neck like a cruel necklace, raw and fresh.

His eyes are closed and his chest barely moves. For one horrifying moment, I can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Why is he so damn still and quiet?

No… no, no, no.

“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, my voice cracking. Am I too late?

Suddenly, I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t even bring myself to touch him.

Did Pete…? Did that bastard kill him?

“Logan, what’s wrong with you?” Mitchikov’s sharp voice snaps me from the haze.

But I still can’t move as I stare at Dylan’s motionless body.

Mitchikov curses under his breath. Pushing past me, he strides to the bed and grabs Dylan’s shoulders, shaking him roughly. “Hey! Hey, kid! Wake the hell up!”

Dylan’s eyelids flutter.

A hoarse sound escapes his throat before he gasps sharply, his eyes flying open. “Let go of me, you bastard!” Dylan shouts, jerking against his bindings. “Don’t you fucking touch me or I will kill you myself.”

Next moment, he starts sobbing wildly. “Don’t hurt Logan and his family. I’m...I’m s-s-sorry. I will do as you say. Just don’t hurt them, please.”

Thick streams of tears pour down his pale cheeks, blinding him to reality.

Mitchikov glances at me, concern softening his hard features.

As for me, I’m jolted back to reality.

Dylan is alive. Safe. Whole.

He’s traumatized but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life healing him.

Stumbling forward, I nearly shove Mitchikov in my haste to get to him.

“Dylan,” I choke out, my voice breaking as relief crashes over me. “Oh my God, Dylan!”

Dylan blinks at me through dazed, tear-glazed eyes. “L-Logan?” he whispers, his voice filled with disbelief. “Am I dreaming?”

“No, darling,” I say in a ragged voice. “I’m here. Just open your eyes and see that it’s me. I’ve come to take you home.”

Yanking off my jacket, I drape it over Dylan’s trembling body and pull him into a hug. “I was so scared,” I whisper against his hair. “I thought I lost you. I thought—” My voice cracks again. “I thought I was too late.”

Mitchikov moves forward and quickly releases the handcuffs around Dylan’s wrists. “Guys, we don’t have a minute to waste. I’ll grab his clothes and you help him get dressed. We’ve got to get out of here before the cops storm this place.”

“Can you stand?” I ask softly.

Dylan nods weakly, his lips pressing together in silent determination.

Within minutes, I help Dylan put on his clothes.

“Just hang on,” Mitchikov says, glancing toward Dylan.

“I’m fine,” Dylan says, leaning heavily against me.

“All right, then. Let’s move,” Mitchikov says, stepping toward the door with his gun drawn.

I grab Dylan’s hand firmly. “I’ve got you,” I tell him.

“What about Pete?” Dylan whispers, fear swirling in his eyes. “He threatened to hurt your mom and sister if I didn’t obey him.”

Rage and hatred course through me as I realize Dylan sacrificed himself again to protect me. Pete used me to trap him and Dylan gave himself up without any hesitation. I’ll never understand how Dylan could so easily throw away his life and freedom for me.

“Pete’s no longer our problem,” I tell him, tightening my hold on his hand. “Right now, we just need to get out of here.”

Dragging Dylan with me, I follow Mitchikov into the elevator.

The three of us barely breathe as we descend back to the ground floor. Stepping out into the lobby, we make our way through the chaos.

Men are still cursing in Russian and barking out orders. Mitchikov stays unfazed, quickly leading us out of the building. Just as we step out, I hear more gunfire erupting somewhere deeper inside the building.

“Don’t look back,” Mitchikov says in a low, tight voice. “The car’s behind this block. Let’s go.”

I nod, not bothering to look back. All my focus is on the young man beside me.

Reaching the car, Mitchikov takes the wheel while I head to the backseat with Dylan. The moment we’re settled in, Mitchikov steps on the gas and drives us away from the scene.

It’s a moment before I realize how fast my heart is beating. Glancing at my side, I find Dylan slumped against me, looking completely drained.

Gradually, my breathing slows down.

Dylan’s alive and back in my arms. It’s the only thing that matters to me at this moment. Pete’s probably dead somewhere in that apartment building and no longer a threat to Dylan or me.

“It’s finally over,” I whisper, gently caressing the stray strands on Dylan’s forehead. He doesn’t stir but the steady rise and fall of his chest tells me he’s just asleep.

I take several deep breaths, struggling to calm my pounding heart. Adrenaline courses through my veins, keeping me sharp and alert. Grabbing Dylan’s hand, I hold it firmly, reassuring myself that we’re both safe and alive.