Page 107 of Hold the Line

Somehow, Richie managed to keep his feet under him.

Saint nodded at me. “Do you fuck that girl?”

“Nah.” Richie shuffled farther in front of me. “Not my type.”

Saint hummed as if considering something. I hoped like hell it wasn’t whether I washistype. “Okay.”

Then he pulled the trigger again.

A fresh spray of hot blood hit my face. I flinched, a scream lodging in my throat as Richie lurched sideways, an animalistic keen tearing from his lips. He clutched his chest, stumbled into the table, and crashed to the ground at my feet, gasping raggedly.

Saint watched the scene with detached boredom. “You’re getting blood everywhere.” His gaze flicked to me. “What is your name?”

“Don’t talk to her,” Richie choked out. “She’s not part of this.”

Saint chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that knifed under my skin. “She is here, so she is part of this.Youmade it so.” His gaze, cold and sharklike, returned to me. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. You look like a nice person. But you understand, of course, I cannot let you leave this room.”

He crouched down in front of me, dragging the barrel of his gun along my cheek. “Please don’t be mad at me,” he murmured, almost gently. “This is all Richie’s doing.”

Tears slipped down my face. I had known—the secondhe’d burst into the room, I’d known my end was coming. But knowing wasn’t the same as facing it. And facing it hurts.

Fear stripped me bare, peeling away every layer of resolve and bravery. I wasn’t ready for this.

There was so much left undone. So many words unsaid.

Deacon.

My sweet, sensitive Deacon.

I hadn’t loved him nearly enough. He wouldn’t know how he’d filled my soul to the very top. I hadn’t told him I’d wanted forever with him, that I would have given him every piece of me, no hesitation. I had wasted too much time doubting him, questioning when I should have been loving him with everything I had from the very beginning.

An impossible, ragged gasp came from Richie. “You can’t touch her.” How was he still alive?

Saint slowly turned to watch Richie clawing his way upright, agony carved into his face. Through the blood, the pain, the fear, his trembling arm lifted his gun.

Saint’s smile stretched wide, icy and amused.

This was entertaining to him.

A slow, heavy dread crept up my spine.

I closed my eyes. These men would not be the last things I saw. I reached for what really mattered. My mother’s voice, warm and reassuring. My father’s hugs, solid as the earth. My brothers and sister, fierce in their love, doing everything they could to protect me. And Deacon.My Deacon.

The smile that had once taken effort but now came easily and lit me up. The way his watchful, sometimes hard eyes always softened for me. His face. Perfect. Mine.

His love. Oh, his love.

I love you, Deacon. Always, always, always.

Gunshots cracked.

My head snapped back.

Weight collapsed against me.

And then…nothing.

Chapter Forty-five

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