Page 60 of The Hellkeeper

The scent of roses is drowned out by something metallic.

Gunfire.

Chapter Twenty

Damien

Gunfire. Bullets. Rifles.

They’ve never scared me. I was raised between them, slept through the sound of them, killed with them. I’ve been in the middle of shootouts more times than I can count. But this time?

This time, there’s fear.

For the first time in my life, real, gut-wrenching, soul-crushing fear grips me. Not for myself, I’ve never cared about my own life. But for her. The only thing in this godforsaken world that belongs to me. The only one I love. I would die for her. I would kill for her. I will rip the world apart for her.

"Get down!"

My voice is pure command as I shove Margaret under one of the tables, dragging her frail body further in. Amelia is beneath me, crushed under my weight, but I don't move. I don’t give her space to breathe because if a bullet is coming, it will find me first. I press her into the ground, covering every inch of her, my body shielding hers like a living bulletproof vest.

She’s shaking. My girl is scared.

"Breathe, baby. I’ve got you. I swear on everything that bleeds, I’ll teach these fuckers what it means to put what’s mine in danger."

The bullets keep flying, glass shattering around us.

Then silence.

I lift my head.

They're gone.

I push myself off Amelia instantly. My hands roam over her body, searching for any sign of blood.

"Tell me you're okay," I demand. "Tell me you're not hurt."

"I-I'm fine."

I need to see her eyes. Need to see for myself that she’s not lying just to stop me from losing my mind.

But she looks over at Margaret first and pales.

She’s lying in a pool of blood.

Amelia rushes to her side, pressing her hands to the wound on her stomach.

"Margaret, please, stay with me. Keep your eyes open, okay?"

I tear my gaze from Amelia; just for a second. The smell of gunpowder and death clings to the air. The restaurant is in chaos. People from nearby shops rush in, screaming, calling for help.

But a masked man outside catches my eye. He’s dressed in all black, his hands trembling. A gun peeks from the waistband of his jeans.

One of them is still outside.

I grab Amelia’s face and crush my mouth against hers in a brutal, claiming kiss. Then I growl, "Put pressure on her wound. I’ll be back."

"Damien—don’t—"

She wails as I pull away. But I don’t stop.

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