Page 27 of Royal Beast
The second man lunges for me, swinging wildly, but I dodge just enough to absorb the blow to my shoulder, retaliating with a fierce jab to his gut. He doubles over, gasping, and I use the moment to follow up with an elbow to his nose. There’s a sickening crunch, and he stumbles backward, clutching his face.
Behind me, Darcy pushes the cart again, ramming it into the third man’s knee. He collapses with a howl, trying to grab onto her, but I reach him first, gripping him by the collar and throwing him into his friend who’s still clutching his stomach. They both crash to the pavement, tangled and groaning.
A sharp pain ignites in my side, and I sway, blinking hard to clear the black spots clouding my vision. I grit my teeth, taking a breath that’s more ragged than I’d like. The men exchange a look, hesitating as they take us in—me, bloodied and furious, Darcy still clutching the cart, eyes blazing.
Finally, they start to back away, cursing under their breath in Russian. The three of them turn tail and stumble off, swearing revenge.
I watch as they go, keeping a close eye on them until I see them round the corner and sprint to a nearby black SUV.
“Rose!” Darcy yells, rushing over to her daughter. She scoops the hysterical girl up and holds her in her arms, squeezing herso hard that Rose tries to pull away. Darcy drops down to the ground, still clutching onto her daughter.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. Are you hurt?” she asks, fussing over the girl, checking her from head to toe. The world begins to swim around me as I take in the sight. They’re safe. I did it. I protected them.
My knees buckle, and I catch myself on a nearby bench, gasping, a bone-deep ache searing through my ribs with every breath. Darcy rushes to my side in an instant, her hands on my shoulders. Her face is a mix of relief and worry.
“You saved us,” she says, her voice husky. Dirty tear tracks streak down her face and she presses her forehead against mine for a moment. “Thank you. Thank you.”
I try to smile, but all that comes out is a grimace and my hand flies to my side, pressing against my ribcage.
“Oh, God, you’re hurt. Let me help,” she insists, her voice soft but firm.
“I’m… fine,” I manage, though the coppery taste of blood in my mouth and the blurring of my vision say otherwise. But as I look at her and Rose—safe, unharmed, here with me—the pain, for just a moment, feels worth it.
“We have to get out of here,” she insists. “Can you walk?”
I start to stand up but immediately stagger, nearly pitching forward.
“You need to get to a hospital!” Darcy insists.
I shake my head, blinking away the sweat from my eyes. “Can’t,” I gasp out. “They’d get… the police involved… ask too many questions. I just need… to get home. I’ll patch… myself up. Just… let me… get to my car. I can… drive myself… home. It’ll be… fine.” Every word causes searing pain and feels like it could be my last breath.
Darcy purses her lips and glances at Rose, then back at me. “I can’t let you drive yourself in this condition. You look like you’reabout to pass out. If you insist on going back to your place, let me at least drive you there.”
I want to protest, to keep Darcy and Rose out of this, but it’s starting to get too hard to stand so I nod weakly, bracing myself against Darcy as she starts leading me to the car. Rose is still crying but she follows behind, worry in her blue eyes.
“Mama, is Mister okay?” she asks, eyes darting between us both.
“Don’t worry about me, Princess,” I say, giving her a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse, but I fought off the bad guys.”
Rose gasps, a bright smile forming. “You’re a superhero!”
That earns a small chuckle from both Darcy and me.
“That’s right, Petal,” Darcy says, trying to keep her tone light. “We need to help fix up the superhero after his fight with the bad guys, okay?”
Rose’s eyes narrow, a new resolve in her expression. “Let’s do it, Mama.”
Darcy helps me into the backseat, and I lie down, closing my eyes as the darkness overtakes me.
13
DARCY
My knuckles are white as I grip the wheel, my eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. Kellan lies across the back seat, still and battered, blood streaking his face. Every bump jars him, and I hold my breath, watching for any sign that he’s waking—or slipping away.
Rose, far too young for the front seat, is buckled up beside me. Her little hands fidget in her lap, her wide eyes darting back and forth between me and Kellan. She was so excited at first, calling him her superhero for saving us. But now, her lips tremble, and her voice is small as she asks, “Mama, is Kellan gonna be okay?”
I squeeze her knee, trying to anchor us both. “Yes, sweetheart,” I say, softer than I feel. “He’s just resting.”
