Page 163 of The Fractured

Gabriele reeled back with an agonized cry. He reached for his ankle, where the back had exploded in a mess of blood and flesh.

Just as he turned to look at the velvet curtain, another shot rang out.

Warm specks of blood sprayed across my face, and Gabriele fell limp to the floor beside me with a gaping hole in his cheek.

I scooted away from him as Beatrice screamed.

Movement at the curtain pulled my attention off the growing pool of blood around Gabriele’s head, and hope swelled in my chest as Dean stepped into the space with a gun already locked on Beatrice. The intention in his eyes was clear.

Beatrice scrambled off the couch and pulled me up.

I tugged against her grasp until she held a gun to my temple and ducked behind me, making me her human shield.

Dean moved steadily, keeping the gun trained on the small parts of Beatrice that weren’t hidden by me. Blood continued to drip from his wounded hand, but he didn’t care. There was a deadly calm about him.

“Gun down, or she dies,” Beatrice demanded. She mentioned something else in Italian. I didn’t understand the words, but thefeeling behind them was anger and frustration. “Gun down and back away!”

Dean didn’t move. His arm was straight, and that gun wasn’t lowering any time soon.

I winced as Beatrice dug hers into my skin. “I will fucking kill her!”

“Do you trust me?” His voice was deep and calm.

I dipped my chin, whimpering, and slowly shut my eyes, waiting for the sharp sting of a bullet. I knew how it would feel, but I wasn’t prepared.

“I don’t have time for your games.” Beatrice snapped, right before another gunshot blasted through the air.

My eyes remained shut. I didn’t want to look. Not when I felt Beatrice leave my side and heard someone fall.

Suddenly, I was standing alone, shaking and unable to form a full breath as I listened.

She shot him. She shot him. She shot him.

Quiet, slow steps approached me.

I barely had time to flinch before a strong pair of arms pulled me close.

“I’ve got you, Lily,” Dean whispered, cradling the back of my head in his hand. “I’ve got you.”

I shuddered and sobbed, and collapsed against him all at once, opening my eyes as tears flooded my vision.

He quickly removed the sash from my mouth, all the while scanning every inch of the cuts and bruises that must’ve decorated my face, and then he unbound my wrists.

Before he could discard the sash, I took his wrist and wrapped his hand with it. “So, you don’t lose any more blood.” My voice felt foreign in a scene so violent.

He cupped my face and kissed my forehead, my cheek, and my lips before he took my hand and led the way through the curtain, mindful of the broken glass from the shattered windows above.

The noise in the basement, a continuous cluster of bangs and yelling, seemed to come back into focus now that the threat of kidnapping no longer hung above my life. It was as if I had blocked it out earlier, and suddenly it had all rushed back.

Dean ducked behind the mezzanine handrail, and I followed, squatting right beside him. It was then that I noticed the sweat on his brow and slightly labored breaths as he focused on a plan to get out without being shot.

“We’re gonna go straight down the stairs and to the exit. Stay low and close to me, alright?” He pressed his good hand to my cheek. “You’re gonna see some things—”

“I know,” I said with a nod, taking his wrist. “Low and close. We’ve got this.”

His half smile was tired but adoring, and then we were moving, quick and steady, down the stairs.

Men shouted at each other, while other voices were cut short by another round of bullets.