Page 120 of Desperate Victory

Away.

At me.

Away—I yanked out the baton, snapped it to full length and struck his wrist with all the force I could muster. He let out a roar of pain, the gun went off. A bullet slammed into the stone, ricocheted and then hit the stone closer to both of us and sending out shards of dust and rock. It also sent the gun skittering down the tunnel.

Win.

He reared back with his fist, but I jabbed forward, driving the baton into the soft flesh below his arm. He grunted, grappling with it. But I had the leverage and I shifted my stance to use his weight and when he jerked, I rolled him around me and ran him into the wall.

The grunt he let out wasn’t pained enough for me. Swinging my baton, I slammed it against his lower back, right over a kidney. But he was faster than I expected, and his fist caught my cheekbone.

Pain exploded through my face and I staggered, slipping on the smooth stone. I was fighting for my balance when Vedriš dove to the side and grabbed his gun. I had nowhere to go.

A gunshot ripped through the tunnel. The loud report echoing against the stone and threatening to deafen me. Skidding onto my knee, I braced for more pain, but nothing happened. Lifting my chin, I stared at Vedriš who looked stunned himself.

A dark stain spread over his shoulder. The hand that had been holding the gun had already released it as his arm just hung there. The click of heels on the stone made me look.

Margareta Waldemar stepped out of the shadows, coming from ahead of us, like some kind of silver-crowned avenging angel. She held a gun with the kind of familiarity that served as a testament to her shooting Vedriš.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to catch my breath. The trembling in my hands told me the adrenaline rioting through my system was going to lead to a hell of a crash.

She didn’t say a word to me as she continued her approach. When she was next to me, she held out her free hand. I accepted it and let her help me to her feet.

“You’re welcome,” she said, her accent more pronounced than I’d ever heard it. But her attention wasn’t on me, it was on Vedriš. She shook her head slowly. “Jürgen.”

The name was different, but the disappointment in her voice made my heart hurt. “You know him?” It came out a little jerkier than I meant, but it was clear.

“Mama,” Vedriš said, wheezing a laugh that held no humor.

Mama.

I blinked. Wait… “You said he died.”

“I thought he died,” Margareta said and the profoundness of her disturbance echoed beneath each word. “You had them tell me that. You played dead so I wouldn’t look for you.”

The anger grew with every additional syllable.

“You would not approve. You and Papa. He never listened, you didn’t say anything when he threw me away. So why should I care if you knew I was alive or not?”

“Because I am your mother and I would have protected you.”

“Clearly,” Vedriš said on a harsh exhale. “That’s why I’m bleeding right now.” Despite the blood soaking his clothes, he was still moving toward the gun.

“You’re bleeding right now because you were about to kill my granddaughter.”

Granddaughter.

My head spun. What?

Vedriš laughed. It was an ugly, harsh sound. “Did you adopt another child?”

“No,” she said. “This is Elaine Benedict—the daughter of Melissa Benedict.”

The man sobered.

“Andrea is her daughter…”

“Her second daughter. The child she had with Harper Reed.”

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