Page 95 of Reaper & Ruin
“Where are they?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears.
The sharp yell of a man’s voice shattered the quiet, followed by the unmistakable sound of fists meeting flesh.
“They’re downstairs.” Silver was already moving toward the door, her gun drawn, and I scrambled to keep up.
The hallway was narrow and dimly lit, the floor creaking softly under our weight. Shadows flickered against the walls as we moved, the faint sound of fighting growing louder with every step.
At the bottom of the stairs, light spilled from an open door, illuminating a horrid sight that stole the breath from my lungs.
Chaos. Chaos and my men.
Atlas and Gio were in the thick of it, brutal as they fought a good dozen men. Not that I saw much of it. What with the blood.
I’d barely taken a glance before Rowan slammed his hand over my eyes. “Deep breaths, Lucky. Pretend there’s no blood here.” He ordered, and I listened without complaint.
Or at least, I did for a moment. Until Rowan was suddenly yanked away from me, and his hand slipped free. I had no choice but to stare at the ceiling as my brother put two bullets into the gangster beside him and ordered me to run.
Rowan dove into the fray of the fight without hesitation, his fists swinging with a ferocity that bordered on savage delight. Danika was right beside him, her blade flashing in the dim light as she cut down anyone in her path. Silver moved like a shadow, her gun firing twice in rapid succession, each shot finding its mark with ruthless efficiency.
And I froze at the edge of the room, my breath hitching as the scene unfolded.
The air was thick with the scent of blood and gunpowder, the sound of grunts and cries reverberating around me. My fingers tightened around Atlas’s knife, but I couldn’t make my feet move. I couldn’t bring myself to look and risk seeing the blood and doing nothing more than becoming a fucking nuisance.
But then one of Giorgio’s men spotted me.
A cruel grin spread across his face as he lunged at me. My body moved on the instinct that my men had been drilling into me these last few months, ducking under his swing as adrenaline surged through me.
The knife slipped from my grip, almost clattering to the floor. But I managed to grab it at the last second before I bolted toward the kitchen, the man’s heavy footsteps pounding behind me.
My brain raced with ideas as I desperately tried to keep my focus on the kitchen, and not the rest of the bloodstained roombehind me. But with the gangster quickly approaching, I had no choice but to try something random.
Something entirely unexpected.
The fridge door became my weapon, slamming into his face with a dull thud.
“Fuck,” he spat, reeling back. His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, and I yelped, twisting in his grip and dropping Atlas’ knife.
My free hand closed around a coffee mug on the counter, and I flung it at him with all the strength I could muster. The mug shattered, hot coffee splashing across his face, and he screamed, stumbling back. My chest heaved as I grabbed the knife again, raising it with trembling hands as I forgot entirely about my gun.
But before I could strike, a familiar voice stopped me cold.
“Malyshka. Don’t get your pretty hands bloody for a thing like that.”
Relief flooded me as a hand grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me softly towards their body.
“Atlas,” I breathed, my grip on the knife loosening as he carefully took it from me.
“You did so well. Exactly what I wanted you to do with something like this,” he murmured, his tone affectionate despite the madness around us. And the fact he quickly put a bullet into the gangster I’d attacked, after he ordered me to close my eyes and complimented me for wearing his mask.
I laughed shakily, tears prickling as I turned around, eyes shut tight. “I was about to murder him so badly,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Did you see me? I was doing a Die Hard and rescuing you.”
My mask was pulled off, and a warm mouth kissed me. For a single moment, everything else faded. Then Atlas pulled back, and I carefully opened my eyes, focusing only on him.
“Thank you for the rescue.” He grinned hard enough to make my heart race. “Shall we rescue Gio too? I think he needs it.”
Chapter Thirty One, Good Girl
Asatisfied grin took over my face as I plunged a knife into the chest of the nearest man. His gurgled scream was drowned out by the symphony of violence around me. Blood sprayed, warm and sticky, as I yanked the blade free and spun, already seeking my next target. Gio’s dad had brought half an army, but they were slow, undisciplined—nothing like the calculated ruthlessness of Company-trained killers.
