Page 116 of Taking Denver

The Harland brother sighs. “Nah.”

My hands fly to my face as Wilder shoots. Blood spatters behind Archer, a bloom of red across his chest.

Someone shouts, and Sebastian scrambles to his knees by his brother. He says something, sobs something, his back to me as he presses his hands over Archer’s chest to stop the bleeding.

“Sebastian, get down!” I scream.

He ignores me. Of course he would. His brother is dying. But even if it wasn’t his brother with a bullet in his chest, Sebastian would help because that’s the kind of man he is.

A helper, a healer, a good guy.

“Fuckhead,” Wilder calls out, gesturing with his gun at Sebastian’s back. “Let the cop die, or you die.”

“No,” I cry. “Please don’t.”

Wilder ignores me. “Blondey! Get the fuck down, or I will shoot you!”

Panic rings in my ears, a shrill, sharp, hissing sound that could be my heart or the bullets that keep robbing lives. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

My chest jerks with a pained sob. It jerks again.

Sebastian slumps to the ground, two bullets in his back.

More screams. Sobs. I stare at Wilder, and he sighs and shrugs. “Another one bites the dust. Now, Denver, where were we?”

He’s broken. Unhinged.

The ringing in my ears grows louder.

He killed Ethan.

He killed Harley.

He killed Sebastian.

Blood and bullets. Blood and fucking bullets. I’m so tired of it. Tired of losing people, tired of people dying, tired of this life that amounts to nothing but a fat bank account and pain.

Someone scrambles to their feet on the far side of the room and runs for the balcony. Wilder’s gaze darts to the movement.

I kick off my shoes and run at him. I sweep up a discarded champagne bottle off the floor and brandish it like a bat, both hands wrapped around the bottle’s neck. I pull it back over my shoulder, adrenaline and anger—pure, bitter, acidic anger—pumping through me.

I swing.

The bottle hitting Wilder’s palm sounds like a whip. He snatches it from my hands, tossing it to the ground, and then his hand is around my neck.

My feet leave the ground, and I grasp at his wrist, my lips parted as I desperately try to take in air. The tips of my toes tickle the floor as I struggle in his grasp, his dark blue eyes darting across my features like he’s memorizing my face before he kills me.

Wilder pulls me closer, his grip tightening on my throat. My choker presses into my skin, and I scratch at the back of his hands, pressure building in my head as I stare into sapphire eyes.

Should I have run? Should I be with Axel, half a world away, terrified but stepping into fresh waters? Would I be someone new, someone happy, someone excited for what was to come?

A life flashes before my eyes, but it isn’t a world away with Axel. It isn’t dog walks with Ethan or dancing with my dad in the living room. I walk past those possibilities, past happiness held by others.

And I go to him.

To the man who broke me down, only to rebuild me. To the man who vowed to protect me, to love me no matter what I did. The puzzle pieces of my life fall into place, and it’s him.

It’s all him.

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