Page 28 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

Now.

Chapter 14

Fantasia

Sleep has never been easy for me, which means waking up never feels good. For many years now, I’ve preferred not to close my eyes at all. Instead, I’d grab a bottle of wine and sit in an armchair close to the fire, letting the mingling heat of the alcohol and the hearth lull me into a waking stupor.

This morning, I don’t realize my eyes have even closed- andstayedclosed- until I’m shocked awake by a door flying open, letting in cold morning air and blinding sunlight and a harried-looking Piers.

“We need to leave. Get dressed,” he orders, already rummaging through his duffle bag. He tosses a pair of sweats at me, but I’m still trying to remember where I am and who I am, as the fabric slaps me in the face instead of landing in my waiting arms.

“What…?” I croak.

“Crowes,” Piers spits, retrieving his handgun from the duffle and loading it with practiced speed. “Outside.”

My head instinctively swivels toward the window, but the curtains are closed. As I look down at the sweats he just threw at me, I snort in frustration. “Hand-me-downs? I have my own clothes, you know.”

He doesn’t even look at me. “We don’t have time for this! Move!”

The sharpness in his voice jolts me into motion. I pull them on quickly, my hands trembling slightly as I move with more urgency than I thought I had in me. I try to climb out of bed, but pain lances through my side and I only manage to double over. My body stiffened up last night, and parts of me I didn’t even think were wounded in the struggle with Armstrong and Barnes are hurting now. Muscles I tensed and stretched unnaturally while I flailed around, the heels of my feet from kicking at the floor- even my jaw hurts when it didn’t before. I try again to stand and manage it, but it’s agony.

I don’t think I can run like this.

“You should go,” I tell Piers, even though I know he won’t listen.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but there’s no humor in it. He zips up his duffle, shoves his shoes on without a second thought. “Just so long as you’re right behind me.” His hair is windswept, his cheeks pink from the chill outside. When he turns his dark green eyes on me, I’m shocked by how hard they are. Not with anger, but with determination.

He’s ready to fight his way out. For me.

And if he refuses to leave me behind, then I have to run. For him.

When he holds his hand out for me, I reach to take it, almost on instinct. Then a fist knocks hard on our door, making us both freeze. For a moment we stay quiet, wondering if we’re wrong, wondering if whoever’s on the other side will just leave.

“We know you’re in there. Come on now. Let’s not make this difficult.”

Piers and I exchange a look. No such luck then.

Piers motions me to get behind him, and I’m not stubborn enough to disobey. Together we creep toward the door, staying close to the wall. When the knocking comes again, harder this time, Piers reaches out to unlock it.

He looks back at me, just long enough to mouth, “Stay here.” Then he flings open the door, pointing his gun at a man on the other side.

But the Crowe is quick- his hand shoots out, slapping the gun aside. It clatters to the ground between us as the man lunges at Piers.

The next moment is chaos. Piers drives his fist into the man’s stomach, forcing him to stagger back, but another Crowe charges from the side, swinging wildly. Piers blocks with his forearm and counters with a strike to the jaw.

The gun lies within arm’s reach, taunting me,its cold metal gleaming in the dim light. I grab it, feeling the weight settle heavily in my hands, but my fingers tremble, weak from the withdrawal. My body aches, each movement a reminder of the alcohol still clawing at my system. I can kill. I know that. The thought of pulling the trigger doesn't frighten me, but I can't ignore the fear of what might happen if I miss.

“Get him!” a third Crowe barks, his voice sharp and chaotic.

The third man strikes a punch at Piers, but Piers is already moving, pivoting low as he drives an elbow into his ribs, sending him crumpling to the ground. The first man grabs Piers by his shirt, yanking him off balance and slamming him against the wall. For a split second, my heart stops as the man’s hand darts toward something at his belt.

“Piers!” I gasp, inching toward the opening, my body screaming at me to stay put.

Piers doesn’t falter. With a fluid motion, he draws his knee up into the man's gut, his expression sharp and unyielding. The man groans and doubles over, but Piers doesn’t stop there. He grabs the guy by the back of the head and slams him into the doorframe, the sickening crack of his nose reverberating through the space.

The second Crowe steps forward, this time armed. His pistol gleams in the morning light, and my breath catches.

“Enough!” the man growls, aiming straight at Piers’s chest.

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