Page 71 of Mountain Summons

“I bet I can change your mind,” André said. Lena took a step back, but she was too slow. André’s hand curled painfullyaround her biceps as he brought her body against him like a shield. Lena gasped, stumbling, trying to twist free, but he was too fast, too strong.

André’s hiss against her ear made her want to throw up. “I can shoot off her pinkie. How would you like that? A pinkie’s not that important … unless, of course, she ends up bleeding to death.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Tristan said, taking a step forward, raising his hands in the air in a placating gesture. “Please don’t hurt her.” Another small step forward.

No.

A hot surge of fury bloomed inside her. She was getting so tired of getting manhandled by this asshole—so tired of being threatened and shoved around like a bargaining chip.

She met Tristan’s eyes, and for a moment, she saw something there.

Permission.

“Don’t move any closer,” André warned.

Tristan nodded.To André? To me?She wasn’t sure. He started speaking, but Lena barely heard him. “Come on, André. The helicopter is ready. We can still?—“

Lena shifted her weight slightly.

She took a deep breath, praying she hadn’t misunderstood Tristan’s nod. But it didn’t matter. It was now or never. Because they weren’t getting into that helicopter.

With all the force she could muster, she slammed her boot down onto André’s foot—hard, sharp, grinding her heel with a force she hadn’t even known she possessed.

André let out a howl, his arm jerking instinctively. The gun wavered—and then Tristan moved.

In one clean surge, he launched himself forward, slamming André with a force that knocked both Lena and him backward. The gun fired—a deafening sound that made Lena’s heart stopfor an instant—but the shot went wide, smacking into the snow a few feet away from them.

Lena landed on her side, momentarily losing her breath. She scrambled to her knees as the two men hit the ground hard beside her.

“Run, Lena!” Tristan shouted as he rolled them both away from her.

Still struggling to take a breath, Lena stood. She looked at the surrounding snow, searching for the pistol. There wasn’t much she could do to help Tristan now, but she could make sure André didn’t get his hands on the weapon again. Except she couldn’t see it.

The rolling came to a stop, Tristan on top, holding on to André’s wrists securely with his left hand, while his right elbow pressed hard into André’s chest, trying to pin him.

But André was fighting like a man possessed. With a guttural snarl, he bucked his hips, twisting hard, nearly throwing Tristan off. His knee came up, slamming into Tristan’s side.Right where he’d been hurt before. Tristan grunted, holding on, but his grip slipped just enough?—

André’s hand shot free.

Lena’s heart lurched as she saw the flash of metal. The pistol. André’d had it all along.

“No!” she gasped, surging forward without thinking, grabbing at his arm.

André let out a savage snarl, jerking his arm, dragging Lena off-balance?—

Then Tristan slammed his fist into André’s jaw, hard enough to make the man’s head snap sideways. The gun clattered free, skittering across the icy ground.

For a heartbeat, all three of them stared at it.

And then they all lunged.

Lena reached it first—fingers brushing the cold steel—only for André’s hand to close around her wrist, yanking her backward with brutal strength. She yelped, stumbling, as Tristan slammed into André from the side, driving them both away from her.

They grappled in the snow, rolling, punching, shoving—Tristan fighting with everything he had, but André was wild with desperation.

Lena scrambled backward, gasping, eyes darting wildly for help. For anything.

And then?—

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