Page 68 of Sins of the Father
He would see the ropes on the ground. He would know. Then it would be too late.
Now. She broke cover, moving fast but silent, closing the distance as fast as she could. Her heart slammed against her ribs. The air hissed past her as she raised the pipe high—
He heard.
John half-turned, surprise flickering in his eyes, but she was already there. The pipe came down hard, catching him at the side of the head with a dull, brutal thud. His grunt tore through the silence as he staggered and fell to one knee. Mia didn’t wait. She swung again, putting her full weight behind it. The pipe connected with his forearm this time as he lifted it in defense. There was a sharp crack, the sound of bone giving way.
John roared in pain, his face twisting. He lunged, catching her off balance, and they went down hard. The breath rushed from her lungs as her back hit the floor, his weight pressing down. He was strong—so much stronger—but she didn’t panic. Luc’s voice echoed in her mind:Use his weight. Redirect it. Move before he recovers.
Mia twisted, rolling her hips and hooking her knee under his arm. Pain ripped through her scraped wrists, but she ignored it. She shoved upward, turned with the motion, and in a heartbeat, she was behind him, legs locked around his waist, arms snaking around his throat.
He grabbed at her wrists, trying to pry them loose, but she locked tighter, every muscle screaming in protest as she squeezed. The scent of blood and sweat filled her lungs. His struggles grew frantic; he drove backward, slamming her into a crate, and she cried out in pain, but she refused to let go.
“I will not let you kill him,” she hissed, voice raw with fury.
Her arms trembled. Her vision blurred. Still, she held on, pouring every ounce of strength, every breath, every heartbeat into the chokehold. She would rather die here on this filthy warehouse floor than let this monster touch Luc.
They reachedthe docks before dawn, moving through the fog-drenched shadows. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rust, the steel shipping containers looming like giants, their flaking paint and corrosion whispering of long decay. Luc led the way, the handle of his knife warm against his palm, eyes scanning every angle of darkness. Beside him, Antonio moved in perfect rhythm, gun drawn, his finger resting just outside the trigger guard. Every sense was alive, taut, coiled.
They weren’t just walking into enemy territory. They were walking into a trap. A metallic clang rang out—sharp, sudden. Then came a scream.
Luc froze. His pulse stuttered, then roared to life. “Mia.”
He was already moving, low and fast. He expected gunmen in every gap between containers, every shadow that breathed. Another shout split the air, followed by a woman’s cry—high, raw, full of pain and fury. The sound knifed through Luc.
“Something’s wrong,” Antonio muttered.
Luc’s voice was a low growl. “That’s definitely Mia’s voice.”
Movement flickered to his left. He spun, reversed the knife in his grip, and drove it upward into the man’s throat—swift, clean, efficient. The body dropped without a sound. A muffled shot from Antonio’s silencer followed, another one collapsing into the shadows.
Luc’s gaze snapped toward the container ahead. “It’s coming from there.”
They advanced, silent and lethal. Luc reached for the door, shoved it open. And there she was. Mia stood in the dim light, her breath ragged, her shoulders shaking. An iron pipe hungfrom her hands, slick with blood that dripped in steady rivulets to the concrete.
“Mia?”
She turned sharply, stumbling once before catching herself. Her hair was tangled, her wrists raw, her face streaked with dirt—and she looked both terrified and defiant. Then, to his shock, she started to laugh—a broken, trembling sound. The pipe fell from her hands with a clang, and she ran. Luc caught her mid-stride, arms closing around her as every wall he’d built inside him cracked. Her body was shaking so hard it tore at him.
“It’s John,” Antonio said, kneeling by the fallen man. “Looks like he’s dead.”
Luc met Mia’s tear-filled gaze, taking in the bruise blossoming beneath her eye, the dried blood on her lip. His voice came out low and even. “Ensure it.”
Two silenced shots echoed softly. Final.
Mia flinched, then whispered, “I think he was already dead. We fought for a long time. He caught me a few times, but… I remembered everything you taught me.”
Luc studied her face, the fire still burning in her eyes. “You fought him.”
“Yes. He wanted to use me to draw you in… to kill you.” Her voice cracked. “But I couldn’t let him.”
A dark rush tore through his chest—rage, pride, love tangled into something almost unbearable. “So you killed for me?”
Her hand trembled as she touched his jaw. “Yes. And I’d do it a thousand more times to keep you safe.”
Her words mirrored the vow he’d made to stand before a thousand bullets if it meant keeping her safe. For a moment, Luc couldn’t breathe. Then he crushed his mouth against hers, the kiss fierce, desperate, tasting of salt and blood and every damn emotion he’d denied himself. Mia clung to him, answering withequal fire. When he lifted her, she didn’t resist; she just buried her face against his neck, her tears soaking his collar.
Luc turned and walked beside her, Antonio moving ahead, alert and silent. They kept to the shadows as they advanced through the maze of containers. The soft hiss of rain mingled with the muffled bark of Antonio’s silencer—four precise shots—and the dull, heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground followed. As they neared the car, her voice came out rough and trembling.
