Page 95 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

Drakon’s blow catches me across the cheek, snapping my head to the side. I see stars, feel the warm trickle offresh blood down my chin. Then, he grabs a fistful of my hair, wrenching my head back.

“He was my family!” he roars, spit flecking my face. “And you…you put a bullet in his brain like he was a rabid dog.”

I remember that day, the weight of the gun in my hand, the clarity of the shot. It was him or me, him or innocents. My eyes slide to Admiral Brady over Drakon’s shoulder.

“I had my orders. And I’d do it again,” I say, bracing for the next hit.

It comes, hard and fast, a one-two punch to the ribs that leaves me gasping.

Drakon’s breath is hot against my ear, his voice a serpentine hiss. “You’re a pathetic little liar. Your boss showed me these so-called orders. You were on a data-collecting mission.”

He punctuates each word with a blow, his knuckles splitting against my cheekbone, my nose, my jaw. I ride the waves of pain, letting them crash over me, through me. I’ve endured worse. I’ll endure this. My son’s face enters my mind. His sweet, round cheeks. Corkscrew black curls, just like his mother’s.

I have to endure. I have to live. For him.

“That’s not true,” I wheeze. “Admiral Brady is lying to you.”

“You know what I think?” Drakon continues, circling back around to face me. “I think it’s time for a little role reversal. Time for you to know what it’s like to lose everything you love.”

My blood runs cold. No. Not this.

“I’m going to kill them, Thatcher,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender. “Your friends. Your family. Your wife’ssister who is currently watching little Duke for you… You didn’t think I knew that, did you?”

I lunge against the restraints, the chair tipping precariously. “Don’t you say his name! Don’t you even think about my son!”

“Oh, I’ll say his name, Agent Bryant. I may even consider sparing his life.” Drakon leans down, his face inches from mine as he whispers, “But how I’m going to love killing that pretty little reporter you’ve been running around with. What’s her name again? Allison?”

“Leave her out of this,” I growl, straining against my bonds. “She’s got nothing to do with any of it!”

“Oh, but shedoesnow.” Drakon smiles, and it’s a grotesque thing. “She’s a part of your life. Which means she’s a part of the game.”

“I swear to God, if you touch one hair on Duke’s head or so much as look at Allie...”

“You’ll what? Bleed on me?” He scoffs, turning away. “Save your breath. You’re going to need it to scream.”

He walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I want you to imagine it, Thatcher. Imagine your precious reporter begging. Pleading. Imagine the light going out of her eyes.”

Bile rises in my throat, hot and acidic. “Drakon...”

“And the best part? Once I’m done, once I’ve taken everything from you… I’m going to make sure the world believes it wasyouwho went on a PTSD-fueled murdering rampage. Thatcher Bryant, the fallen hero. The murderer.”

“No one will believe that,” I rasp, but there’s a tremor in my voice, a crack in my certainty.

“Oh they will. Even your son will,” Drakon says, his eyebrow arched. “How do you think little Duke will feel, knowing his daddy is a cold-blooded killer?”

My heart races, somehow simultaneously sinking to my stomach, and I squeeze my eyes.As long as Duke lives.As long as he survives this, he can believe me to be a killer. His life is what matters.

But Drakon just laughs, that same sickening laugh that makes my skin crawl and from over my shoulder, I hear the Enforcer’s chuckle. “That little boy of yours will come home to Russia with me and I will raise him as my own. I will raise him to hate Americans. I will raise him to believe his father murdered everyone he loved in this world.”

The door slams shut behind him and the Enforcer, the echo of Drakon’s words ringing in the sudden silence. I slump in the chair, my breath coming in ragged gasps. This can’t be happening. It can’t end like this.

But even as despair threatens to swallow me whole, I feel a flicker of something else beneath the surface. Rage. Determination. The unshakable resolve that has carried me through battlefields and back alleys alike.

Drakon may think he’s won, but he’s forgotten one crucial thing. I’m Thatcher fucking Bryant. And I don’t go down without a fight.

I close my eyes, letting the pain sharpen my focus, letting the love I feel for Allie, for Duke, for Griffin and Hunter, the family I’ve found fuel the fire inside me. Drakon wants a war? I’ll give him a goddamn reckoning.

But first…first I have to get out of this chair.

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