Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Whether he realizes it or not, he didn’t come here to save his family.
He’s here for revenge.
Deep inside, he knows he’s already lost, and he came on this suicidal mission to make Peter and the others suffer before he dies.
My hands toy with the knot on my robe tie to keep from shaking as I descend as slowly as I can, with Henderson and Yulia a step behind me. Nora is walking to the right of me, her face carefully blank as she holds Lizzie protectively in front of her.
She’d do anything for her daughter, I know—as would I for the tiny life growing inside me.
A life that won’t see the light of day if the man behind me has his way.
We’re halfway down the staircase when I see headlights through one of the living room windows and hear the front door burst open, followed by the thumping of boots on the wooden floor.
My heartbeat spikes with equal parts relief and terror.
The guards are here.
Somehow, they’ve found out we’re in trouble—and now Henderson is truly cornered.
Alone, without his team, he stands no real chance of escape.
I hear him curse under his breath above me, and a vague plan forms in my mind.
Continuing to descend at the same slow pace, I pull on my robe tie, untying it, and the cool air washes over my bare skin as the silk robe falls on the stairs behind me—pooling right underneath Yulia’s and her captor’s feet.
The guards burst into the foyer, and I dive for Nora, pushing her against the railing as it happens.
With Henderson’s attention focused on the guards, he and Yulia both slip on the fallen robe—and his shot goes wild as Yulia skids down the stairs on her bottom.
Without hesitation, the guards fire at Henderson, and Nora and I huddle together, shielding Lizzie as we hear him fall.
99
Peter
It’s been a day since we’ve gotten back, and I still can’t stop touching Sara, can’t stop holding her. Every other minute, I also fight the urge to inspect her from head to toe—even though Dr. Goldberg has already examined her and pronounced her and the baby healthy.
Cradling her on my lap, I stroke her hair and breathe in her sweet scent, a tremor running through my body each time I think about how close I’d come to losing her… how the guards had found her huddling naked on the stairs an hour before we finally burst in.
She tripped Henderson with her silk robe, saving herself, Nora, and Yulia in the process.
The three of them fought against armed mercenaries and won.
“It’s fine. We’re fine,” she murmurs, lifting her head, and I realize I said the last bit out loud. Her hazel eyes gleam softly as she curves her slender palm over my jaw. “I promise you, other than Yulia’s tailbone and poor Rosa’s jaw, we’re totally okay.”
“I know,” I mutter. “And it’s a fucking miracle.” Covering her hand with mine, I close my eyes and inhale deeply, trying to calm the mad pounding of my heart.
Like me, Kent and Esguerra had been going out of their minds by the time we landed, though Diego had already informed us that Henderson was dead and our wives were safe. It hadn’t been enough to know it intellectually; the awful fear had stayed with me until the moment I laid eyes on Sara.
Until I could hold her in my arms and feel that she’s alive and well.
“You saved everyone, you know,” I say thickly, opening my eyes as she withdraws her hand. “Not just on the stairs, but before. Kent told me it was your scream that woke up Yulia in time for her to hide under the bed and then come to your rescue. If not for that—”
“We would’ve defeated them some other way,” Sara interrupts with a calm smile. “I’m certain we would have.”
The conviction in her voice is both absurd and admirable. For whatever reason, rather than re-traumatizing her, yesterday’s attack seems to have energized my ptichka in some way. I’ve always known that she’s strong and capable, but she herself must not have believed it—until she fought my enemy and won.
“Sometimes, a repeat trauma can be perversely healing,” Dr. Wessex told me when I spoke to her this morning, after Sara slept through the night without nightmares and woke up as upbeat as I’ve ever seen her. “Unlike what happened with her parents, this time, she was able to do something—and nobody close to her got killed or truly hurt.”
I don’t know if I believe the therapist—it has only been a day, and it could still hit Sara later—but I’m cautiously optimistic about my ptichka’s mental state.
My own, I’m less certain about. Last night, I barely slept, battling nightmares and cold sweats.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again,” I say—and I’m not joking one bit. “No more overnight missions away from you, no work that keeps us apart for any length of time. And I’ve already ordered my own set of tracker implants from Esguerra; as soon as they arrive, they’re going in.”