Page 50 of SINS & Riley (Dante & Riley #2)
RILEY
I hold my breath, and leap.
Air knifes past me before I slam into the awning. Pain detonates across my ribs, my spine—metal scraping a hip as the canvas scorches my skin.
The impact blasts the breath from my lungs, but I choke the scream down. For a moment I’m nothing but pain and momentum, disoriented and sliding helplessly down the slant.
For a heartbeat, I think I can hold myself here—maybe even pull back up.
I can’t.
The fabric rips. The frame buckles.
Suddenly I’m dangling off the edge—fingers gouging into cold metal, muscles screaming fire, legs thrashing at nothing but air.
And then, I fall.
I hit the ground so hard the world blanks out. Air explodes from my chest, pain radiating everywhere. Sharper this time, like my body’s been split in two.
Please let the baby be okay.
Strong arms hook under me, hauling me up. The grip is iron, unshakable, and my throat cracks on a whisper. “Zver?”
“No.”
I force my eyes open against the sun, vision swimming in and out.
It’s Boris.
He gets me into the car, engine roaring as he peels away from the curb.
“Seatbelt.”
I blink, dazed, slow to react. “What?”
His eyes never leave the road, but his hand presses softly against my belly. “Seat. Belt.”
Stunned, I fumble for the strap and click it into place. He’s not just here to protect me. He’s here to protect the baby, too.
“Did you see Zver?” Boris asks as he cuts down an unfamiliar road. His words slice sharp, almost desperate.
“No.” The word rasps out, heavy. Why would I have seen Zver? Was he looking for me too?
He glances over, and that’s when his gaze locks on the blood smeared down my leg. “Hospital?”
“No. I’m fine.” I grind the lie out, jaw tight. Every part of my body hurts, but I'm not stopping for a damn hospital right now. “It’s just for show.”
The look he shoots me says he doesn’t believe a damn word.
And maybe he’s right.
Because beneath the act, pain screams through me.
“If Zver’s looking for me, we have to go back.”
“No.”
What’s with him? I’m two seconds from yanking the wheel.
“Boris, we have to?—”
“There’s a protocol. You are on the next plane out.” His hands strangle the wheel, knuckles bone-white as he jerks us hard left into an alley.
I grip the belt tight. Then it happens.
A shriek slices the air. The dash explodes in a red light.
“What’s that?”
Boris’s grip tightens. He slams the gas. “Proximity alarm.”
I scan the streets, pulse hammering so hard it feels like it’s rattling my ribs. “I don’t see anybody.”
Boris’s jaw locks, his eyes dead ahead. “At the house.”
The words slam through me. The house.
My stomach free-falls, dread crawling icy fingers up my spine. “We need to go there. Now.”
“That’s not the protocol.”
“Zver’s life might be at risk. Dominic’s too. Fuck the protocol!” My voice slices sharp, cracking with panic.
For a full minute, I can’t even tell if he’s steering us toward the house or away from it. The uncertainty claws at my chest, suffocating.
“Are you driving toward the house?”
A beat. His knuckles tighten on the wheel. “No.”
“Goddammit, I’m ordering you.” I jab my finger in his arm to the beat.
His eyes cut to me, flat and unshaken. “You are not my boss. You can’t order me.”
Oh yeah? Watch me.
“I’m carrying Zver’s baby,” I spit, lying through my teeth. “And that makes me more than your boss. That makes me—” I scramble for the words. “Zver’s baby mama.”
“Baby… mama?” He repeats it slow, like the words are foreign currency he’s never handled before.
Seriously, who the hell hasn’t heard of that?
“You heard me. And trust me, the last thing you want up your ass is a pregnant woman’s wrath. I’m hormonal as shit, and I will never, ever forget. Do not make me your living nightmare. ”
He just stares, frozen, like a stunned rhino caught in the headlights.
Time to pull out the big guns.
I jab a finger at the windshield, heat blazing through my chest as I lay into him.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Boris. You’re taking me to the house.
Right. Fucking. Now. Or so help me—every time this baby has a tooth coming in, projectile vomit, or a blowout from hell—you will be the preferred babysitter. ”
For a second, no reaction.
Then, he exhales through his nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a growl. “You fight dirty. Dirtier than Zver.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
His hands tighten on the wheel. He jerks it hard, tires screeching as we spin a brutal u-turn.
We drive at breakneck speed for so long you’d think we’d be halfway across the world. But every mile drags like a snail crawl.
Pain claws through my side, sharper with every bump in the road.
I bite it down.
“You okay?”
Damn this man. He notices everything.
“I’m fine. Eyes on the road.”
“Yes, boss.”
For all the tension choking the car, I know he’s trying to make me smile. But it doesn’t work.
I don’t want his jokes. I just want Zver.
By the time we tear up the drive, my gut caves in on itself.
No guard at the gate. The iron doors blown right off the hinges.
The estate looks like a battlefield.
Bodies sprawled across the gravel, guards strewn where they fell, blood slicking the stones like spilled oil.
Boris hasn’t even stopped the car before I’m out the door, sprinting.
Inside, the air reeks of smoke, black curls spilling from the kitchen. I stumble through debris, heart battering my ribs, until I see him—Dominic.
Crumpled in the middle of the wreckage.
“Dominic!”