Viktor walked closer to Carlos. He said something in Russian to Jakov—who stepped aside—and raised his weapon.
Terror swamped Carlos’s features, eyes redding, jaw unhinging. He garbled a mix of Spanish and English, anger and fear fighting for dominance in a rush of words that made no fucking sense.
Viktor remained unmoved, an efficient soldier I’d seen in action before. Colder even than Alexei. Because Viktor didn’t love my brothers.
And we didn’t love him.
“You should know,” Viktor said, finger an aching beat from squeezing the trigger. “We made a deal with your brother weeks ago, so your newfound grudge with the Kings was as pointless as it was stupid. Also, while you were torturing their enforcer, I hacked you and transferred your personal assets into your daughter’s name. She is now freeandrich. Imagine that.”
A real emotion flashed in Viktor’s eyes. Couldn’t name it, I was too fucking tired.
Too caught up in the soul-deep yearning for Embry.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
I almost missed Carlos lunging forward. “You’re Sidorov’s little toy as much as the last one was. You think you can kill me?”
“Yes.” Viktor smiled that awful smile again. “And I will.”
“No, you won’t.”
The voice came from above. From a figure crouched on the roof of a nearby outbuilding, flanked by another with broader shoulders and longer hair.
They jumped together, agile and lean, landing on the balls of their feet.
Embry.
Saint.
Or maybe they were angels, floating down from the motherfucking sky, blowing this reality apart, the smashed pieces on the floor nothing but a fucked-up dream.
You’re going to wake up on the floor of that barn, no fingers or toes. They’re gonna take your skin next. Your eyeballs. Then they’re gonna shoot you and you’ll die never knowing if Liliana or Embry—
“Mateo.” Embry’s eyes met mine, furious and blue. A split second, but that was all it took to know he was real. His nod was grim, laced with the sweetest love. Then he raised a weapon and calmly fired it into the face of my mortal enemy.
It was the last thing I saw before my knees buckled, and despite Nash’s hold on me, I fell to the dirt.
28
EMBRY
Folk killed Lorenzo. It was the only fact I absorbed outside that Mateo was alive, despite the fact that he seemed very dead.
Locke had him on his back, a rough hand to his chest, shaking him. Calling his name.
No response.
Mateo was out cold, and real fear for him hit me. With him missing, it had been easier to pretend he was okay. Just somewhere else. Seeing him so battered and laid out in front of me, it was harder to deny how close we were to the other side.
“He breathing?” Nash gruffed.
Locke nodded. “Pulse is strong too, but I don’t know how long that’s gonna last. We need to get him out of here.”
We’d left trusted brothers with our bikes and the SUV.
Nash made the call. “They’re coming.”
It should’ve eased me, but it didn’t. Mateo was hurt. He needed medical attention beyond whatever skills Locke seemed to have, but where the fuck were we going to take him? Even if we cleaned him up first, A&E docs would call the feds in a heartbeat.