Page 72 of Ruthless

Angela shouts as she cowers behind a gunshot-laden settee, but the bullets drown her out. By the time I glance back, she’s gone.

I stifle a sob. I can’t leave Gregor to bleed out only a few feet away.

Screw it.

Without stopping to consider the foolishness of the act, I lunge for him. Before I reach him, a hand snatches my ankle and yanks me onto my stomach, hauling me toward the door.

I scramble, my nails biting into polished marble floors as I struggle to get away.

From the corner of my eye, I spot the umbrella from earlier in the corner and stretch until my fingertips graze the handle. With a cry, I flip onto my back and swing wildly, ready to stab and stab and stab until this assholelets mego.

Heavy footsteps cut through the pandemonium, and the man’s hand on my ankle disappears.

Someone else blocks the door now. Tall. Muscled.Armed.My brain shifts into overdrive, categorizing everything as either threat or non-threat. Still, the confident way the newcomer carries himself is familiar, and relief floods me immediately. “Dante.”

I jerk upright only to stop short. Dante’s hoisting a large object onto his shoulder, and after several shell-shocked seconds, I finally understand what I’m seeing.

Is that a–?

“RPG!” A man’s panicked shout slices through the house. “He’s got a fucking rocket launcher!”

“Sorry I’m late,tesoro.”

With that, Dante’s finger squeezes the trigger, and all hell breaks loose.

Chapter 28

Dante

The intruder closest to me dives out of the RPG’s path as the missile tears through the house with a squeal. It rips through the front door, colliding with the van parked out at the curb and arching a plume of flames toward the sky.

The explosion shatters the glass at the front of the property, a concussive boom that spurs the purebred dogs in the neighborhood into a howling frenzy. My eyes scan the room for Sara, who’s curled up behind one of the entry tables.

“Stay.” I mouth the word at her, my eyes fierce and wild as I communicate my command. At her fervent nod, a vice squeezes my ribs, but I can’t address that alarming sensation now. As long as she remains still and I keep her behind me, she’ll be safe until after I deal with this.

“What the fuck?” The guy in the ski mask who had his hands on mytesororegains his footing, his eyes still wide with disbelief and panic. With a roar, he lifts his semiautomatic. It’s an impractical weapon choice in close quarters like this one, but I guess the same could be said of my rocket launcher. The walls are bulletproof and soundproof, just like the main house next door, which means these morons might have gotten away with this little stunt if I hadn’t just blown up their fucking car.

Before he can get a shot off, I move in, arm knocking the nozzle up into the air. While he’s distracted, I pull my knife, punching the blade up through the underside of his chin. Behind his mask, his eyes roll, and blood fountains from his mouth. I twist the knife for good measure and open his throat, watching impassively as he collapses into a pile at my feet.

The sound of heavy boots echoes through the halls as at least half a dozen more ski-masked men come from every corner of the house. Snatching up the bastard’s abandoned gun, I set the RPG aside and return to Sara. Taking a knee in front of her, I shield her body with my own.

She’s supposed to be protected here. We both are. I didn’t understand how much my sanctuary meant to me until someone desecrated it.

When the next assailant in the hall rushes through the kitchen doorway, I almost marvel at his textbook stance. With his rigid posture, extended arms, and body weight on the balls of his feet, he’s practically a model soldier.

Unfortunately for him, I was never much for textbooks, and when I pull the trigger, my first bullet hits him in the dick. A second bullet embeds itself in his forehead as he collapses. The men coming in behind him try to get in their own shots, but the bottleneck in the hallway works against them.

Above the din of shouting voices, I hear a familiar baritone. Trusting Gregor and the others to pick off the rest of the bastards at the other end of the house, I let my mind go blank as instinct and training take over.

Screams and garbled curses permeate the air as I wade through whoever’s brave enough to stumble into the unintentional kill box the kitchen has become. Bullets eat through flesh, baptizing the house in blood.

The minutes stretch into eternity as we wait for the last shell to hit the ground. An eerie quiet settles over the house.A red mist fills the air, reeking of offal and metal. I reach for Sara and find her still curled in on herself, her fist wrapped in…pearls? She doesn’t give me time to ask any questions, her arms encircling my neck as she buries her face in my throat.

I should push her away for safety reasons, so a survivor can’t get the drop on us. Instead, I grip her hips to steady her against me. Her tears are wet on my neck, and the hand she uses to cup my cheek is clammy with her fear.

I need to get her somewhere safe before shock has a chance to set in. “Are you all right?” Her cherry scent envelops us both. She smells like the only clean thing in the room because she is.

Because of my spiked adrenaline and a mind rampant with murderous rage, I’m incapable of reassurance. I don’t know how to extract myself from this place, how to meet her with softness and care.