Page 138 of Savior

I follow behind Dante as I was instructed to, keeping close, my finger on the trigger of my gun and my footsteps as silent as I can keep them.

We go in just as Slate said we would, hot and heavy.

Dante blows the lock off the door, and Brynne and Slate enter, guns and heads on swivels as they clear room after room.

Seconds tick by as I hear men in my ear whisper, ‘Clear.’

When we get to the second floor, all hell breaks loose. Men come out of every nook and cranny, bullets fly, and I try my best to duck into a room to avoid the spray.

I slam the door, panting as I hear footsteps approaching.

“What’s happening?” a female voice says, fear lacing it.

Instincts kick in, and I go to the bed, where I’d heard it come from. “It’s going to be alright. Get into the closet or somewhere safe,” I whisper.

She gets out of bed quickly, and I realize it’s Sloane in the full moon’s glow.

“Fuck, Sloane?” I holster my gun, going against everything Slate told me to, shoving her into the closet and clicking on the light once I find it.

I look her over.

She’s too thin—a mix of bruises, healing, and fresh littering her body. Broken blood vessels around her eyes suggest she’s been recently asphyxiated, and anger is coiling in my stomach with each new thing I find marring her perfect skin.

“Luca?” she whimpers as I tug her to me.

“Fuck, Sloane. God, I’m so sorry.” My sobs make my body shake against hers as I hold her tight.

It takes a moment before she realizes she’s not dreaming and wraps her arms around me, melting into me.

The com in my ear goes off. “I’ve got Matteo, Boss.”

It’s Dante.

“Eliminate him,”is the answer his boss gave in reply.

“I want her to see the body,” I tell them.

I’ve witnessed too many abuse victims who are still tormented by the thought that their abuser still lives in their nightmares, even while they rot beneath the earth.

“Boss?” Dante asks.

“Tell us where you are,” Slate replies.

“Kitchen.” He keeps the com live as we hear gunshots ring over the waves.

I look at Sloane, who’s hugging herself tightly. Her eyes are different, haunted.

“It’s over, little dove.”

She shivers at the term, but nods.

I grab her arm, and she winces before I make the connection.

My soul aches as I drop my hand away. “Come with me?”

She nods again.

I lead her down to the kitchen area of the safe house.

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