“Tell him to go fuck himself,” I say, checking my weapons. Two guns, extra magazines, a knife strapped to my ankle. I push Emma from my mind now that I know Connor can’t get to her. “We don’t negotiate with people who attack our home.”
“Leo,” Dante says carefully, “he has fifty men. We have maybe forty left after the initial assault. The odds aren’t good.”
“I don’t care about the odds,” I say harshly. “Connor Brennan wants his daughter back? He can try to take her. But he’s going to have to go through me first.”
Dante looks at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “Where do you want me?”
“East door,” I say. “Keep them from breaching. I’m taking the front.”
“The front?” Dante’s eyes widen slightly behind his dirty glasses. “Where Connor is?”
“Where Connor is,” I confirm.
Because this ends one way or another. Either Connor takes Emma over my dead body, or I make sure he never threatens her again.
I head toward the front entrance, my footsteps echoing in the hallway, and my thoughts immediately go to Emma. She’s going to hate me forever, but at least I know she’s safe.
I’m coming back for you, I promise silently.No matter what it takes.
But first, I have to face her father.
And only one of us is walking away from this.
20
EMMA
If my father hasn’t killed Leo, then I’m going to kill him myself.
With my bare hands. Slowly. Possibly involving dismemberment.
The fury is so bright and hot in my chest that for a moment I can’t breathe through it.Howdarehe. How dare he lock me in here like I’m some helpless thing that needs protecting, like I’m a doll to be put on a shelf while the real people handle the real problems.
I throw myself against the door again, my fists slamming into the steel so hard pain shoots up my arms. “Leo Santoro you let me out of here right now!”
Nothing. Just the echo of my own voice in this goddamn steel box.
I pound harder, screaming until my throat is raw. “I swear to god when I get out of here I’m going to kill you! Do you hear me? I’m going to?—”
My fist connects wrong and pain explodes through my knuckles. I look down and see blood welling up from split skin, my hands already turning purple with bruises.
Good. When I see Leo I want him to see what locking me up did. I want him to see the evidence of my rage.
If he’s even still alive.
The thought tries to wedge itself in through my anger and I shove it away violently. No. I’mnotletting fear take over. I’m too pissed for fear.
But my hands are shaking as I press them against the door, and I hate it. I hate the trembling. I hate that part of me is scared shitless that Leo is out there getting himself killed while I’m trapped in this coffin box.
Which he put me in.
I’m going to make him regret it for the rest of his significantly shortened life.
I step back from the door, breathing hard, trying to think through the rage. The panic room is most likely soundproof, which means screaming myself hoarse isn’t going to accomplish anything except maybe damaging my vocal cords.
Fine.Fine. If I can’t scream my way out, I’ll think my way out.
Because Emma Brennan wasn’t raised to be helpless. I wasn’t raised to sit quietly in a locked room and wait for men to decide her fate. Even if that was what my father wanted, my mom did her best to make me strong.