Page 33 of Savior

“Stop,” I whisper. I run for him on the tips of my toes.

He doesn’t listen, stepping into the light from the main room, his shoulders strong, his face stony as he points his barrel at a target I can’t see.

“Luther,” he yells. “Drop it.”

I skitter to a stop beside him as gunfire rings out, the booming sound pummeling toward us.

Pop.

Pop.

I duck, my pathetic attempt to protect myself improved when Luca shoves me back into the sanctuary of the hall.

I stumble against the wall as he rushes into the living room, morepop,pop,popsraining down.

I’m too stunned to scream. I’m completely dazed, and it’s not only because of the battle or the shouting voices. It’s because Luca shoved me.

Protectedme.

In the heat of the moment, when he was surrounded by danger, his first instinct was to push me out of harm’s way.

He did as he promised.

He attempted to save me.

I remain immobile as voices brush my ears—the sound of Chris talking from outside, then Luther, and even a slurred response from Cole. Grunts and thumps carry from the main room. There are clear sounds of a struggle and all I can think about is the man who tried to help me. The one who is now eerily silent.

Luther’s laugh is the only noise that penetrates my shock, the conniving tone filling me with dread.

“It’s too late. I got him,” he taunts. “Penny, check to make sure Luca’s dead.”

Oh, God.

I prop myself against the wall and beg my legs to strengthen beneath me. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t even breathe properly as I fumble my way to the hall entry and find Luther on the floor, leaning on his elbows, his face awash with smug satisfaction as his son sways on his feet, barely remaining upright.

Their expressions paint a horrid picture—Luther’s victorious and egotistical, Cole’s devastated and confused.

Guilt has me searching for the man who offered kindness. The one I find shielded behind the back of a sofa, his body lifeless, one cheek covered in blood.

A cry builds in my throat, demanding to be heard. I let the pressure assault me. Punish.

He was my only chance at freedom and I let him slip through my fingers. He was my savior and I treated him like a predator.

“Don’t go near him.” Cole fumbles over his words. “Get the fuck away.”

I ignore him in my need to confirm Luca’s death, not only to appease my tormentor, but for my own insight. I have to feel the void where there should be a heartbeat, to let the lack of life slice another scar into my tormented soul.

“Luther, I’m sorry.” I inch into the room. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stab him with the sedative but he stopped me. He was too quick.” The explanation fumbles from my lips. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe I could—”

“Just check him.” Luther crawls to his feet.

I do as I’m told, starting toward Luca’s prone body, following the crimson trail staining the ivory tiles. I scour every inch of him hoping for movement, my gaze trekking from the heavy boots, along his thighs, across his stomach, to his neck, chin, and mouth. My gaze finally comes to rest on the hazel eyes slowly blinking back at me.

He raises a shaky hand to his lips, requesting my silence.

I should tell Luther. Ineedto inform my owner of the threat, yet the words don’t form. I’m incapable of announcing this man’s vulnerability. Not after he tried to save me. Yet I have to say something.

“There’s blood.” My voice trembles. “It’s coming from his head.”

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