He yells something into my face, which I don’t understand, but I get his meaning clear enough. I curl into myself and mentally try to prepare for whatever is about to happen. Up ahead, the windows on the farm house are open, and the barrels of two rifles are poking out.
The driver guns the engine without warning and sends us careening around the corner of the house and towards the back. The car has barely come to a stop when someone’s yanking me out and dragging me inside.
I don’t resist, but it still doesn’t stop him from hurling me onto the floor once we’re inside. I crawl under a table and not a moment too soon.
Another spurt of gunfire erupts around us, tearing through the glass and walls of the farmhouse. I can’t see into the living room, but I know there are at least three other men in there. In addition to the three who brought me here that makes six. If Ronan is outside, I have to wonder what kind of backup he has.
As I’m questioning it, something thuds on the back porch where we just entered, followed by a crash of shards from the window above the sink. Something wizzes over the table where I’m hiding and hits one of the men in the head. It all happens so fast that during the time it takes me to blink, he’s on the floor with his face half gone.
My hand flies to my mouth and I have to fight the urge to retch. Jesus. How many times have I been in situations like this now? This is exactly why I didn’t want this life. I don’t know how I seem to have forgotten that in my time with Ronan. Now I have a baby to think about too. And no way do I want my kid growing up around this kind of shit.
Another bullet flies through the window and takes out a different guy. His body makes an awful sound as it hits the floor and I can’t bring myself to look at it. I close my eyes and count to ten, and in that ten seconds there’s another thud.
And then someone is grabbing me, dragging me out from beneath the table and holding my body in front of his. He’s yelling something out in Russian when the back door flies open.
There’s still gunfire coming from the front, but my eyes are focused on the formidable figure standing in the doorway. Chocolate brown eyes meet mine, and my lungs fill with some much needed air. It doesn’t matter what else is happening around me, the one thing I know for certain is everything’s okay now. He’s here, and I’ll be okay. Because Ronan always saves me.
He says something in Russian to the man holding me, to which my captor replies. I’m surprised at Ronan’s grasp on the language, though I shouldn’t be. He never does anything half-assed, this man. Ronan’s gaze meets mine as he raises his gun, and I know he’s silently telling me not to be afraid.
I should be. I should be feeling something. But I’m frozen. Numb. In shock, I think. The man behind me raises his knife to my throat.
Ronan moves forward on instinct, but pauses when the blade digs into my skin.
“Andrei.”
The way Ronan says his name is a threat all its own. His voice is deadly and calm. His body is too. This is what he was trained for. But even I can’t miss the warring rage and fear in his dark eyes. If there was ever a question about how he felt for me, it’s unmistakable right now.
“You have such a pretty little whore my friend.” Andrei drags the tip of the knife down my neck. “Such a shame I could not spend more time with her. This skin, I have a feeling it would look so lovely flayed wide open.”
Ronan speaks to him in Russian again. His voice has lost the calm resolve he displayed only moments ago. The rage is taking over. Turning him. And I know it’s only a matter of time before he goes ballistic like he did with Blaine. Only this time, the guy behind me has at least one knife, and I suspect by the sharp object digging into my back, possibly two. He’s using me as a shield and I have no idea how Ronan’s going to disarm him.
Right about now I’m really wishing that I’d asked Mack to teach me some of that crazy shit she’s always doing to defend herself.
“Shall I take her for a little test drive?” Andrei asks. “Just a few slices. You know they say that all blood is the same color once it meets oxygen, but I don’t think that’s true. So many shades of crimson. You would agree with me, yes?”
Ronan lunges forward, and the man drags me back further, cutting off my air supply as his arm snakes around my neck. He turns the knife in Ronan’s direction and waves it back and forth in a disapproving gesture.
“C’mon, my friend. You must know better than this by now. I’ve heard so many tales about you. The great Reaper of Boston. Men quake in his presence I am told. And yet here you are, completely helpless as I hold your treasure in my arms.”
“She is mine,” Ronan snarls.