Page 113 of Made for Reign

The memory of that night, sitting across from Vega, watching him gloat about claiming Audrey, makes my blood boil. I take a step forward, putting more of my body between him and Audrey.

“Put the gun down,” I say, my voice steady despite the rage coursing through me. “You’re outnumbered. My team has neutralized your security. It’s over.”

“Over?” Vega’s smile is cold, predatory. “I don’t think so. Not while I have this.”

He raises the gun, aiming it directly at Audrey now. “Come here,cara. Now.”

“Don’t move,” I tell her, my body tensing for what comes next.

“If she doesn’t come to me in the next five seconds, I’ll put a bullet in your head,” Vega says, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Then, I’ll take her anyway. Your choice.”

I feel Audrey’s hand squeeze mine, a silent communication. Before I can stop her, she steps out from behind me.

“It’s okay,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll go with him.”

“Audrey—”

“Smart girl,” Vega interrupts, gesturing with the gun. “Come here. Slowly.”

She moves toward him, each step deliberate. I watch her, trying to communicate with my eyes what I can’t say aloud. Wait for my move. Trust me.

“That’s it,” Vega says as she approaches. “Now tell your lover goodbye. You won’t be seeing him again.”

Audrey stops just out of Vega’s reach, her back straight, chin lifted.

“You’re wrong,” she says, her voice clear and steady. “He’s coming with me.”

In the split second that Vega’s attention shifts to her face, I lunge forward. Audrey drops to the floor as I tackle Vega, the gun discharging with a deafening crack. Pain explodes in my shoulder, but adrenaline pushes it aside as we crash into the wall.

Vega is stronger than he looks, his fighter’s instincts kicking in as he drives a knee into my ribs. The gun skitters across the floor, out of reach for both of us. I slam my elbow into his face, feeling cartilage crunch beneath the blow. Blood sprays from his broken nose, but he doesn’t stop fighting.

We grapple in the hallway, trading blows that echo through the house like thunder. Vega's smaller than me, but he's quick and dirty, going for pressure points and old injuries. His fist connects with my wounded shoulder, and white-hot pain explodes through my arm.

I absorb the hit and drive my knee into his ribs, feeling something crack under the impact. He grunts but doesn't go down, spinning away and coming back with a vicious uppercut that snaps my head back.

Blood fills my mouth. I spit it out and circle him, waiting for an opening.

He lunges again, this time going low, trying to tackle me. I sprawl back, my hands finding his throat as we crash to the floor. We roll across the hardwood, each fighting for position. Hedrives his elbow into my wounded shoulder, and I roar, my grip loosening just enough for him to break free.

We both scramble to our feet. He's breathing hard, nose streaming blood, but there's still fight in him. His hand slides inside his jacket.

The gun comes out fast. I dive left as the first shot explodes, feeling the bullet whistle past my ear. Before he can adjust his aim, I'm moving, closing the distance as quickly as I can.

My shoulder hits him in the midsection like a battering ram, driving him back into the wall. The gun goes flying, clattering across the floor. We both scramble for it, a tangle of limbs and desperation.

Vega gets there first, his fingers closing around the grip. I grab his wrist with both hands, my full weight bearing down as we struggle for control. The weapon wavers between us, his finger searching for the trigger.

I twist hard, feeling bones grind in his wrist. He screams but doesn't let go. His other hand comes up, fingers clawing at my eyes. I jerk my head back and drive my forehead into his nose. Cartilage crunches and blood sprays across both our faces.

Still, he fights. Kicks at my legs, tries to knee me in the groin. I shift my weight, using my size advantage to pin him against the wall. The gun is between us now, pressed against his chest as we strain against each other.

I wrench the gun away and step back, breathing hard. He's slumped against the wall, dazed, blood running from his nose and a cut above his eye. But his hand is already moving, reaching inside his jacket again.

A knife appears in his palm, the blade flicking open with a metallic click. He lunges forward with a wild slash that would have opened my throat if I hadn't jerked back.

I grab his knife hand, my fingers digging into the pressure points in his wrist. He drops the blade and throws a wild punchwith his free hand. I catch that wrist, too, holding him spread-eagle against the wall.

He spits blood in my face and tries to knee me again. I step back and let him fall forward, then bring the gun down hard on the back of his skull. He drops to his knees, swaying.

---