Page 93 of Silver Sinner

I lock eyes with Trik and he begins to laugh. It's a cold, cruel cackle that rattles through the air with such twisted delight that I can barely stomach listening to it. He laugh and laugh and⁠—

Something pops.

His eyes go wide and a gurgle bubbles past his lips, then an explosion of red sprays out from his throat and utterly drenches me in blood. He stumbles back a single step as I gasp, his hot blood spraying onto my face and soaking into my wedding dress. It gushes like a hose while Trik's lips part and close as if he's fighting to say something, but nothing comes out.

A distant cry rises up from the pews, but I'm frozen in horror, watching a range of emotions flick across Trik's face in only a second. Anger and hatred melt into fear, and then he collapses in front of me. Then, the doors at the far end of the aisle explode open and a sea of men and women pour into the church. They open fire at every Russian guard that dares to turn their way and raise a weapon in retort, and as the whole church turns to look, the sea of bodies suddenly parts and one man walks forward.

A man in a beautifully tailored charcoal suit, covering a beautiful blue silk shirt, with thick, styled silver and black hair, and shining black dress shoes. He strides forward with power and purpose, holding an assault rifle aloft and our gazes meet.

Pierce?

36

PIERCE

There she is.

My Layla.

She stands in the middle of the chaos, dressed in the fluffiest dress I've ever seen. Crimson rains down around her, spurting from the well-placed sniper shot from Adrian, who remains safe from the carnage up on a roof with the perfect vantage point to take out anyone who gets too close to my woman.

Blood stains her face and dress, catching the lace and the frills as she stands there, gaping at me with wide eyes and an open mouth.

The carnage around me barely even breaches my focus on her as my men pour into the church like a flood. Every single person with a weapon is killed, no exceptions. Every guard, every armed guest that sits in the pews acting like they aren't part of the horror this family had brought onto this city and my life, every hidden Barsukov soldier that rises from the eaves; they all die at the hands of my men.

I run down the aisle.

Six weeks have been an infinite amount of time, and yet I recognize every single thing about her. My feet pound against the floor as I run, dodging scrambling guests and falling bodies. Nothing else matters except her. I'm halfway there when a guard from the right surges toward Layla, but he's met with the same fate as Trik, shot by Adrian through the stained glass window. He collapses down onto Trik's body and stays there, motionless.

Layla doesn't even flinch.

She doesn't react until I run up the short steps to her and grab her by the shoulders, my rifle slipping to rest on the strap over my shoulder. Bullets fly, wood splinters in all directions, candles explode, fallen flames lick hungrily at any exposed fabric, people scream as blood sprays and lives are ended.

All of it fades from existence for a handful of seconds that last a lifetime when Layla presses her trembling, bloodied hand to my cheek.

"You—" Her brows knit together and her face crumples, then smooths as if she's fighting to let herself feel whatever she's feeling. Then she crumples again and her voice shakes. "Y-you came."

"I came."

"You're a-alive?"

"I'm alive. I'm here, Layla. I'm here. I'm so sorry it took me so long to find you." Moses' plan was genius, that's for sure. Without it, we never would have been able to tail Anastasia here and scramble together an assault like this.

"You're alive," she repeats in a hoarse whisper. Tears flood her beautiful eyes but she refuses to blink, staring up at me in a mix of awe and horror. The tears grow and roll down her cheeks, taking droplets of blood with them to her chin.

"I'm alive," I say softly.

Her other hand tries to reach my face, but she's shaking so violently that she can't quite make it. I surge forward and press my cheek into her palms. That touch unlocks something in Layla and a deep, desperate sob explodes out of her. My hands drop to her waist, drawing her close just in time as her legs suddenly give way and she collapses against me.

"You c-came for me," she sobs brokenly. "You came. You came!"

Over and over she repeats it in the handful of seconds that pass in our frozen bubble, until a yell rises from the left side of the aisle. Time stopped for us, granting us a brief moment of reunion, but the world crashes back around my ears as Maddie screams and Pavel yells.

"You murdered my son!"

I draw Layla against my side as I turn toward the shout. Pavel holds Maddie by her hair and brandishes a large silver handgun in his other hand.

"Maddie!" Layla screams and she surges forward, but I haul her backward and aim my own rifle.