Page 11 of Brutal Queen

I cling to the memory that has kept me alive all these weeks. Aurora’s soft lips pressing against mine.

I imagine I can feel them now, breathing life back into my broken body.

In… Out…

CHAPTER SEVEN

AURORA

It took us too fucking long to get across town, and now Sinclair is driving us through the warehouse district in a grid pattern. It feels like it’s been hours when a glance at my watch confirms it’s only been an hour since we left the house. But that may be an hour Enzo doesn’t have.

My pulse is racing and I can’t stop my knee from bouncing while I tap my heel against the floor in the footwell.I can’t fucking believe it. He’s alive… he’s been alive this whole time. Alone in that hellhole.

If I lose him again, I’ll never forgive myself.

After Sinclair told us that Stefano had divided the capos across the city and deployed them to Enzo’s possible locations we all went quiet. There was nothing left to say. We knew what we needed to do, and we knew the consequences if we failed.

We can’t fail.

Stefano is coordinating the capos’ updates and sending text alerts at five-minute intervals.

As the minutes tick by, my thoughts grow darker and less hopeful. There’s no guarantee Max didn’t pick Enzo up the minute he stopped filming and this is just a wild fucking goose chase to keep the bulk of my manpower occupied. However, I know Max. He wants me to suffer. And finding Enzo dead would satisfy his need to inflict the most amount of pain on me.

Please, please, let us find him… alive.

My eyes dart around the derelict landscape, scanning each side road as they flick past the passenger window. My heart is pounding so loudly that I almost miss Benny calling out.

“Sinclair, I said stop. Back up,” comes a desperate plea from the back of the SUV. “Turn down the alley on the left.”

Sinclair slams on the brakes and is backing up before I can get a visual on whatever Benedict has spotted. I’m craning my neck to glimpse over Sinclair’s massive frame, but I can’t see a thing.

“What do you see? Where?” I shout, turning back to Benny. The strain in my voice is as clear as the pain in his eyes.

“The end of the road. I swear I saw something on the ground.” He’s almost frantic, pressing his hands to the window and squinting to get a closer look.

Sinclair has turned and is gunning it towards the next intersection. I’m staring to try and find what Benedict saw.

And then I see him and my world tips on its axis. “Enzo.” His name escapes me with a choked cry that rakes along my throat.

He’s sprawled on his front, one arm awkwardly crushed beneath him, surrounded by a pool of dark crimson. My heart stops for a moment, skipping a beat, like it's threatening to follow him if he dares leave me again.

The tyres of the car screech offensively loudly as Sin brakes and swerves to avoid the lifeless body of the man I love. I’m outof the car and running at full pelt to get to him, falling to the ground beside him, his blood soaking into the knees of my jeans.

“Please don’t be dead,” I whisper, reaching out to find a pulse in his neck. My heart beats so rapidly it echoes in my fingertips, making it harder to find his. I fumble, desperate for the tiny beat in response to the pressure I’m applying.

“Don’t move him yet,” Sinclair snaps, his deep voice pitching too high, laced with worry. “This is too much for Doc Em. Nico. Call an ambulance now!”

“He’s got a pulse,” I force out on ragged breaths, practically choking on my own words. Relief courses through my veins, but it’s at complete odds with the terror that still grips my chest. I lean down to listen for more signs of life. “I can’t hear him breathing, Sin.”

I’m dragged away from Enzo, and lash out, blinded by rage.

“No, let me go. I need to help him. Get your fucking hands off me,” I scream as I flail. Benny’s hands grip my shoulders tightly, not letting me go to Enzo. Not letting me touch him. No matter how hard I struggle, he holds strong.

Sinclair rolls Enzo onto his back. I can’t control the sobs that wrack my body when I see the extent of his injuries.

His exposed torso is a mass of welts and burns, interspersed with cuts and ragged lacerations. Ones that match every scar I have. His left shoulder is unnaturally shaped, either dislocated or broken, while his arm is obviously fractured in multiple places, bones piercing the skin. I’m guessing that what we are seeing is superficial, and I’m terrified there are worse injuries internally.

Sinclair hunches over him, his face a mask of grim determination, and a whimper escapes my lips as he begins CPR. Enzo’s chest jolts with every brutal compression. Sinclair stopsabruptly to blow two breaths into his lungs before resuming his relentless compressions.

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