Page 109 of Beautiful Forever
When we get to the bottom of the stairs, she pauses long enough to tighten her grip around my waist. “Whatever happens next, promise me that you won’t try to be a hero.”
I look up the flight of steps that seem endless. We have no weapons. And I’m not in any condition to fight. But I will do whatever it takes to ensure she escapes.
“Aleks, promise me.”
She rarely calls me by my abbreviated name.
I look at her, my soul filled with love for this woman who I would die for. “I can’t.”
Her annoyed sigh speaks volumes. “You and I are going to have a very long talk when we get home.”
Home.Home is her. Home is Tristan and Fénix and Pyotr and Dierdre. Hell, I’ll even be happy to see Hendrix’s smirking face or Constantine’s cold stare. They are the family I never expected, but the one I have discovered that I can’t live without.
“Please don’t make me knock you out and drag you out of here because I will,” she whispers, keeping her eyes on the landing above as she helps me navigate each step.
When we get to the top of the stairs, Syn freezes just as a flash of lightning illuminates the corridor ahead—and the dozen or so men standing there. The long rumble of thunder that follows drowns out every other sound, but the tension that fills the twenty feet of distance between us and them is loud as fuck.
“I’m pleasantly surprised to see that the rumors about you are true.”
I’ve never met Viktor Androv in person, but I recognize him instantly. He stands among his men, a good foot shorter than them, a smug affectation plastered over his clean-shaven face. He acts like the king of a castle, when in reality, he’s just a violent thug wearing an expensive Italian silk suit.
For over a decade, Drako and Viktor have been enemies because Viktor’s only goal is power. He’s not satisfied with his piece of the Midwest. He wants control over all the US territories that the bratva hold. But wanting me dead isn’t business. It’s personal. Under Drako’s orders, Aleksei and I messed up too many of his plans.
Syn squeezes my arm in warning and moves in front of me, putting herself between me and Viktor and a dozen men. “Then you should know what’s about to happen.”
Another flicker of lightning.
Viktor pulls on a sleeve of his suit jacket to straighten out the wrinkle at the elbow. “I do, yes. But the end result won’t be in your favor.”
Syn physically blocks me when I try to move forward, her grip on my arm tightening. “I disagree. I can assure you that I will be walking out of here with my husband. By the way, where is Serena? I’d like to say hi. It’s been a while.”
Viktor’s bushy, dark eyebrows draw together, his expression muddling with confusion. Women are weak and expendable and only good for one thing. He’s not used to strong women who directly challenge him and don’t back down.
Irritation replaces the confusion. “My fiancée is none of your concern.”
“She’s the reason why I’m here, right? You want to kill Aleksander. She wants to kill me.” A heavy rain beats against the roof and windows as the sky opens up and releases its deluge. Something shifts within Syn. I can’t see what it is with her back to me, but I can feel it in the way her muscles suddenly coil taut. “I hate to break it to you, but you won’t get the chance. I have something that you don’t.”
With a flick of his hand, his men raise their weapons. “And what would that be?”
A red pinprick of light penetrates through the window glass from outside. Syn lets go of my arm and takes my hand, her fingers interlocking with mine.
“Family.”
And then the world explodes.
Like a sonic boom, a gust of wind sends shards of glass and splinters of wood skittering across the polished marble floor. A flash of light. A roar of fury. It all happens so quickly. A swarm of bodies comes through the broken windows and pile through a gaping rectangular hole where there should be a door.
Taken by surprise, Viktor’s men start shooting, their aim all over the place. Shattered pieces from the recessed lights overhead rain down upon their heads, the jagged edges, sharp as knives, leaving tiny cuts on the exposed skin of their faces and hands. The acrid scent of gunpowder perfumes the air, and it’s hard to tell what’s happening through the messy melee of bullets and shouts.
My heart slams against my broken ribs when I see Tristan, his whiskey eyes wild with protective rage as he moves with terrifying meticulousness, firing off two rounds before his feet even hit the floor. Hendrix charges in and slams into a gunman mid-aim, driving a knife into his chest before spinning around to disarm the man next to him. Constantine and Pyotr are right behind him and take out four more with ease. I blink when I see Andie. Keane. Liam. Jax. Rafael. Cillian. Drako’s men. Men I don’t recognize. And…Pearson? Bratva, mob, Irish mafia, all working together.Holy fucking shit.
Syn presses close when one of Viktor’s men charges us, his finger on the trigger of his Glock. His head jerks sharply to the side from the bullet that enters his left frontal lobe. Dropping dead on the spot, his gun slides across the floor in our direction.
“Can you walk?” Syn asks, picking it up.
“Define walk.”
She anchors herself to my side. “Stay with me.”
