Page 36 of Saving Her

“Get down,” Cole yells. “Hide.”

I don’t move. I crave the anticipated peace. I want the freedom of death.

“I’ve got her.”

There’s more scuffling. Footsteps patter behind me. But that voice. It wasn’t Cole. Or Luther.

I spin. Luca charges toward me, his face stricken, the barrel of Luther’s gun quickly trekking his movements.

I open my mouth, a scream of warning about to launch from my throat.

Pop.Pop.

Luca slams into me and we fall backward, hitting the floor with enough force to wind me.

Shouts rain. A frenzy of movement ensues. But all I can do is gasp for air as I’m dragged behind the kitchen island counter and propped against the cupboards.

“Are you okay?” He crouches before me, his blood-covered hands roaming my face, shoulders, arms. “Were you shot?”

I shake my head as I struggle for breath.

The side of his head drips with crimson, the rivulets descending from his hairline as he continues to search me, his gaze stopping at my cream pants now splattered with red.

“It’s yours,” I murmur. “I’m not hurt.”

That penetrating gaze returns to mine, his intensity adding to the whir of adrenaline intoxicating my system.

“It’s not my blood,” I repeat. “I’m fine.”

He nods, the movement laced with a wince, then pivots toward the danger, his back to me as he raises one leg of his jeans and retrieves a knife from a sheath attached to his ankle.

“It’s over, Dad. Your new protege failed to inject me properly,” Cole mumbles the words. “Your dog is dead. And you fucked up when you thought you took Luca out.”

“You forget I’m the only one with a weapon, son.”

I inch farther back into my hiding place, completely aware of Luther’s power.

He’s got the gun. He isn’t injured. He’s in control.

“I’m sorry, motherfucker, but you’re mistaken.”

A woman’s voice catches me off guard as she walks inside through the open glass doors.

She has to be the little fox.

She clutches a gun in her hands, her shoulders high and strong, her face hardened like a warrior’s. “Lower the weapon, Luther. Hand it over and this may not have to end badly.”

I need to help her. I have to stop hiding like a child and grab the gun I dropped. I can run. Sprint. Slide and snatch.

Luca glances over his shoulder at me and mouths, “Get back.”

I shake my head and jut my chin in the direction of my weapon.

“Get back,” he repeats, his arm reaching out to guide me into submission.

He ignores my plan—ignores me in general—as he creeps closer to the edge of our island hiding place and sneaks a peek around the cupboards.

“Don’t shoot, Nis,” Cole demands. “He won’t kill me.”

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