Page 74 of Captive Prize

She turned her head toward me.

The light was bright, obscuring most of her face.

All I could see was the brilliant green of her eyes as they filled with horror.

She knew.

It took leaving the safety of the cabin, the safety of my protection, but now she realized the truth.

She knew this wasn’t a rescue. It was an execution.

These weren’t her men—not anymore.

“Roman,” she screamed. Her voice was raw, filled with something I didn’t want to name, something desperate that tore at my gut.

My mind was already racing, calculating, trying to find the angles to take a shot. But the man closest to pulled her into a chokehold and held her as a human shield.

Mateo.

He was going to die. Slowly.

The glare was still too much. I couldn’t get a clean shot off that didn’t risk her life. I would never risk her life. Even if I was willing, I couldn’t do it.

Even if I was sure I wouldn’t hit her, my finger would not pull the trigger.

The risk was too high.

And that was my fault, too. I shouldn’t have had any hesitation.

If she were anyone else, I would have shot Mateo through her, in a place that would kill him but only injure her.

Through her arm and into his heart or something.

If she were anyone else, I’d risk her life and kill him, then drag her back into the cabin by her goddamn hair and finally get the answers I should have gotten hours ago. She would slowly bleed and I would kill her men in front of her.

But Zoya was different.

I pushed forward, leaving my cover as I fired at the other men surrounding them.

I may not have been able to hit Mateo, but I could take out a few of his men while I tried to get closer.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my shoulder, sending me crashing to the ground.

Mateo was using a large caliber firearm, and the force was enough to knock the wind out of me, but I got up, crawling to my knees and then stumbling to my feet.

For her, I pushed through the agony and forced my vision to focus as I got to new cover.

In a haze of pain, I caught sight of the doors of one of the SUVs being thrown open.

Zoya was shoved inside, kicking and screaming the whole way.

My brave little warrior fought with everything she had, and I was so proud of her.

I fired my gun a few more times, not sure I hit anything. My vision blurred at the edges, but I fought the draw of darkness.

Cold, quiet darkness. It called to me, like my mother's voice, beckoning me home.

Blood poured from my wound, hot and wet, staining my shirt. The familiar smell of iron filled my nose, and the taste of copper filled my mouth, but I didn’t care.

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