Savior Read online

  I should be running for my boss, gun in hand. Instead, I can’t drag myself away from her. I tell myself it’s only for one more second in the hopes she’ll comply. Because information is key, right? I could gain an advantage over whatever the hell is going on out there if only she would give in to me.

  “Luca,” Torian roars.

  Shit.

  I shake off my obsession with her and rush for the door, grabbing my pistol from the back of my waistband.

  “Luca…”

  Her voice is heaven to my ears. If only it wasn’t too little too late. I can’t hang around any longer.

  “Luc, wait.”

  Fuck.

  I turn, finding her staring back at me, her forehead etched in pain.

  “He’s out to get you.” There’s remorse in her tone. In her eyes, too. “And I have no doubt he’ll succeed.”

  6

  Penny

  Luca dashes from the room, not acknowledging my pained admission with more than a narrowed stare.

  He’s going to get himself killed.

  All of us could die in the melee.

  Oh, God, Tobias.

  I rush to my feet and scramble to follow him. As I enter the hall, I find Luca crouched before Tobias, a finger to his lips as he instructs Luther’s son to remain quiet.

  For a brief moment I’m struck with the kindness in his features. The gentle nurturing that seems one hundred percent pure. Then he looks at me, his gaze hardening as he pushes to his feet.

  “Go,” he mouths to Tobias. “Hide.”

  The boy rushes toward me and I usher him into the room, mimicking Luca’s warning to keep as quiet as possible with a finger to my mouth.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper.

  “Dad told me to come get you. You need to go to him.”

  I nod. “I will. But first, you have to hide, okay?”

  He opens his mouth to protest.

  “Not now, Tobias. You need to listen. Hide. Get under the bed. Or in the closet. But don’t come out, you hear me?”

  “What’s happening?” His voice breaks with a sob.

  “I don’t know. I have to go with Luca to find out.”

  “But you were meant to—”

  I shake my head at him, cutting off his words. I’m well aware of what I was meant to do. I know I failed. “Did you do it? Did you sedate Cole?” I murmur.

  He winces, his tiny shoulders curling in on themselves.

  “Don’t worry. You did great.” I smile at him, my heart breaking at the thought of this possibly being our final goodbye.

  Luther will kill me for failing.

  Me, and the man I endangered.

  “Now it’s important you hide.” I shoo him farther into the room and grab the door handle. “Don’t come out until I get you.”

  I want to tell him I love him. There’re so many things I need this little boy to know, but I close the barrier between us and force myself to remain strong as I turn to Luca.

  He’s in the middle of the hall, creeping toward the entry to the living room, his gun raised. He’s about to start a war. And with Cole drugged, he’ll surely get himself killed.

  “Stop,” I whisper. I run for him on the tips of my toes.

  He doesn’t listen, stepping into the light from the main room, his shoulders strong, his face stony as he points his barrel at a target I can’t see.

  “Luther,” he yells. “Drop it.”

  I skitter to a stop beside him as gunfire rings out, the booming sound pummeling toward us.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  I duck, my pathetic attempt to protect myself improved when Luca shoves me back into the sanctuary of the hall.

  I stumble against the wall as he rushes into the living room, more pop, pop, pops raining down.

  I’m too stunned to scream. I’m completely dazed, and it’s not only because of the battle or the shouting voices. It’s because Luca shoved me.

  Protected me.

  In the heat of the moment, when he was surrounded by danger, his first instinct was to push me out of harm’s way.

  He did as he promised.

  He attempted to save me.

  I remain immobile as voices brush my ears—the sound of Chris talking from outside, then Luther, and even a slurred response from Cole. Grunts and thumps carry from the main room. There are clear sounds of a struggle and all I can think about is the man who tried to help me. The one who is now eerily silent.

  Luther’s laugh is the only noise that penetrates my shock, the conniving tone filling me with dread.

  “It’s too late. I got him,” he taunts. “Penny, check to make sure Luca’s dead.”

  Oh, God.

  I prop myself against the wall and beg my legs to strengthen beneath me. I can’t stop shaking. I can’t even breathe properly as I fumble my way to the hall entry and find Luther on the floor, leaning on his elbows, his face awash with smug satisfaction as his son sways on his feet, barely remaining upright.

  Their expressions paint a horrid picture—Luther’s victorious and egotistical, Cole’s devastated and confused.

  Guilt has me searching for the man who offered kindness. The one I find shielded behind the back of a sofa, his body lifeless, one cheek covered in blood.

  A cry builds in my throat, demanding to be heard. I let the pressure assault me. Punish.

  He was my only chance at freedom and I let him slip through my fingers. He was my savior and I treated him like a predator.

  “Don’t go near him.” Cole fumbles over his words. “Get the fuck away.”

  I ignore him in my need to confirm Luca’s death, not only to appease my tormentor, but for my own insight. I have to feel the void where there should be a heartbeat, to let the lack of life slice another scar into my tormented soul.

  “Luther, I’m sorry.” I inch into the room. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stab him with the sedative but he stopped me. He was too quick.” The explanation fumbles from my lips. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought maybe I could—”

  “Just check him.” Luther crawls to his feet.

  I do as I’m told, starting toward Luca’s prone body, following the crimson trail staining the ivory tiles. I scour every inch of him hoping for movement, my gaze trekking from the heavy boots, along his thighs, across his stomach, to his neck, chin, and mouth. My gaze finally comes to rest on the hazel eyes slowly blinking back at me.

  He raises a shaky hand to his lips, requesting my silence.

  I should tell Luther. I need to inform my owner of the threat, yet the words don’t form. I’m incapable of announcing this man’s vulnerability. Not after he tried to save me. Yet I have to say something.

  “There’s blood.” My voice trembles. “It’s coming from his head.”

  Luca crooks a finger, beckoning me forward.

  My heart drops.

  I don’t want to go to him, yet I’m drawn. Pulled. My feet creep closer of their own accord, then I’m crouching, succumbing to his silent command.

  “Penny,” Luther growls. “What are you doing?”

  “His pulse… I-I’m checking his pulse.”

  What I’m really doing is staring into the eyes of the man who has fractured me. The one who fills me with relief because he’s still alive. But there’s no justification for my celebration, not when I’m responsible for his injuries, and his upcoming death.

  “I’m sorry.” I break our visual connection in an attempt to sever my guilt and focus on the lengthy gash along the side of his head, the oozing blood matting his hair. I’m about to reach out, to sweep the strands away to inspect his wound when Cole curses, the violent outburst from the other side of my hiding place enough to make me retreat.

  “Get his weapon,” Luther demands of me. “Then unlock the door and hand it to Chris.”

  “Don’t do it,” Cole snarls. “Don’t fucking do it, Penny.”

  My heart sinks as I glance to my left and find Luca’s gun on the tile a few feet away.

>   There’s no choice. With Luther armed and Chris waiting outside, evil has already prevailed.

  Gentle fingers brush my wrist, stealing my attention. My focus. I meet Luca’s gaze. I see the struggle to fight etched in his features—the tight lips, the drawn brows.

  “Don’t,” he mouths, begging me with his eyes. “Don’t do it.”

  For once, I want to please him. A criminal. A man. I’d give anything to grant his wish. Instead, I paste on a regretful smile, hoping he understands the apology that comes with it.

  I should’ve told him what was happening when we were alone in the bedroom. I should’ve let down my guard and believed his promises. Then this situation might have ended differently.

  But the bad guys always win.

  “She does what she’s told,” Luther seethes. “Otherwise she knows the consequences.”

  I straighten, hearing the threat loud and clear.

  “What’s to stop her shooting you?” Cole asks.

  “She could try. But she’d be dead before she had time to aim. And then I’d kill all her friends just to spite her.”

  That’s why I have no choice. That’s why I have to take Luca’s gun.

  I reach for the weapon a few feet away, my fingers tingling as my palm slides over the blood-slicked exterior. It’s a strange sensation—touching a gun for the first time. The slightest ebb of power flows through me as I grip the cold metal in both hands.

  If only I could shoot Luther. If I had the experience and skills to risk everything on a quick draw, I would.

  Luca’s hand reclaims my wrist, the fingers trailing slowly over my skin. “Give it here,” he mouths.

  I want to. I want nothing more than to let him continue to be the savior he promised to be. I just can’t. I won’t place my life in the hands of a stranger. Nor the lives of the women waiting for my return. Not when he’s possible heartbeats away from death.

  “I’m sorry.” My lips form the silent words as remorse slaughters me from the inside out. “I’ve got the gun,” I announce to the room and stand.

  I forget about the man at my feet. I shut out the guilt and shame.

  “Keep it,” Cole slurs. “Don’t give it to Chris.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Luther jabs his son in the shoulder with his gun as if sensing an act of retaliation. “You’re predictable. Always have been.”

  “Too bad you’ve already admitted you won’t kill me, old man.”

  I ignore their squabbling and focus on what has to be done. Everything fades away as my bare feet trek the cool tile toward the glass door covered by a sheer curtain. I can already see Chris standing in wait on the other side. I can feel his darkness. Can predict more bloodshed.

  “Tell Penny not to give him the gun and we can talk this out.” Cole’s words are garbled. “That’s what you want, right? To show me the error of my ways?”

  I shut him out. I shut everything out.

  There’s only the wild beat of my pulse and hollowness. An empty void carves its existence into my soul, preparing me for death.

  I don’t stop my progression toward the door. I don’t pause even though the only option I have makes my heart stutter.

  Life doesn’t flash before my eyes—it blinks slowly. Snapshots of memories I’ve longed to forget assail me. I see my parents. My brothers. My friends. Everything drifts into my mind until I reach the curtain and pull it aside.

  “Tell her to stop. Do it.” Cole raises his voice. “Penny. Don’t. Don’t be stupid.”

  The argument continues behind me. I’m sure the sound of a scuffle or a fight brushes my ears, but all I see is Chris. The cold stare. The conniving smirk.

  His crimes come back to haunt me as I tighten the gun in my grip, yet there’s no uncertainty in his expression. There’s no doubt in his mind I’ll hand over the weapon like a good little slave.

  His opinion of me is humiliating.

  The condescension. The superiority.

  I unflick the lock and yank the door wide, the sea breeze kissing my cheeks while his smirk increases.

  He doesn’t rush me. He only provokes with his confident leer, waiting for me to comply to yet another demand. Even with a weapon drawn in his direction he’s entirely certain I won’t shoot him. How could I when a lifetime of conditioning has ensured I’ll obey?

  “No,” Cole yells, the protest ringing in my ears.

  I don’t want to do this. I’m scared. Nauseous.

  I raise the gun in both hands, slowly inching it toward my enemy, the aim creeping from his feet, along his legs, to his stomach.

  The more dire my aim, the more Chris smirks.

  “That’s a good pretty Penny,” he drawls, the taunt barely audible yet deeply unsettling.

  Cole shouts another protest. There’s another scuffle of feet. Then a warning from Luther.

  A million rampant heartbeats pass and still the smirk beaming back at me doesn’t falter. Not until I force myself to smile back, my lips slowly lifting in a mirrored taunt.

  For a second, the most beautiful sight of trepidation blinks back at me. All it takes is a squeeze of the trigger to cement his fear in place.

  Pop. Pop.

  My arms shake with the blasts. My ears ring.

  Chris jolts with both impacts, his eyes widening, his skin turning pale as a lake of red seeps from the holes in his shirt.

  His descent is fluid, almost beautiful, as he falls backward, sailing through the air until his head hits the cement tile with a deafening crack.

  Pride rushes through me as the gun slides from my fingers and a sob of achievement escapes my throat.

  “I’ll fucking kill you,” Luther roars.

  Yes, he will. That outcome was always blindingly obvious.

  I close my eyes, raise my face to the dawning sun, and wait for piercing bullets to take my life.

  “Get down,” Cole yells. “Hide.”

  I don’t move. I crave the anticipated peace. I want the freedom of death.

  “I’ve got her.”

  There’s more scuffling. Footsteps patter behind me. But that voice. It wasn’t Cole. Or Luther.

  I spin. Luca charges toward me, his face stricken, the barrel of Luther’s gun quickly trekking his movements.

  I open my mouth, a scream of warning about to launch from my throat.

  Pop. Pop.

  Luca slams into me and we fall backward, hitting the floor with enough force to wind me.

  Shouts rain. A frenzy of movement ensues. But all I can do is gasp for air as I’m dragged behind the kitchen island counter and propped against the cupboards.

  “Are you okay?” He crouches before me, his blood-covered hands roaming my face, shoulders, arms. “Were you shot?”

  I shake my head as I struggle for breath.

  The side of his head drips with crimson, the rivulets descending from his hairline as he continues to search me, his gaze stopping at my cream pants now splattered with red.

  “It’s yours,” I murmur. “I’m not hurt.”

  That penetrating gaze returns to mine, his intensity adding to the whir of adrenaline intoxicating my system.

  “It’s not my blood,” I repeat. “I’m fine.”

  He nods, the movement laced with a wince, then pivots toward the danger, his back to me as he raises one leg of his jeans and retrieves a knife from a sheath attached to his ankle.

  “It’s over, Dad. Your new protege failed to inject me properly,” Cole mumbles the words. “Your dog is dead. And you fucked up when you thought you took Luca out.”

  “You forget I’m the only one with a weapon, son.”

  I inch farther back into my hiding place, completely aware of Luther’s power.

  He’s got the gun. He isn’t injured. He’s in control.

  “I’m sorry, motherfucker, but you’re mistaken.”

  A woman’s voice catches me off guard as she walks inside through the open glass doors.

  She has to be the little fox.

  She clut
ches a gun in her hands, her shoulders high and strong, her face hardened like a warrior’s. “Lower the weapon, Luther. Hand it over and this may not have to end badly.”

  I need to help her. I have to stop hiding like a child and grab the gun I dropped. I can run. Sprint. Slide and snatch.

  Luca glances over his shoulder at me and mouths, “Get back.”

  I shake my head and jut my chin in the direction of my weapon.

  “Get back,” he repeats, his arm reaching out to guide me into submission.

  He ignores my plan—ignores me in general—as he creeps closer to the edge of our island hiding place and sneaks a peek around the cupboards.

  “Don’t shoot, Nis,” Cole demands. “He won’t kill me.”

  Luther won’t kill him? Is he kidding?

  I fumble onto my haunches, preparing to make a run for salvation as Luther drawls out a pithy insult. I either want to die in a rain of bullets or be completely freed. I won’t sit by as the devil regains the upper hand so he can draw out my punishment for days.

  Weeks.

  Months.

  I’m about to make a run for it when Luca lunges for me, his trunk of an arm tackling me around the waist to haul me back into him.

  I fight his hold as he drags me between his legs, his thighs closing in around me, the knife clutched in his free hand.

  “Quit it,” he growls low in my ear, his voice barely audible over the threats and demands being continuously flung around the armed standoff. “Cole needs to finish this. It’s his right. Otherwise I would’ve already done it myself.”

  I shake my head, denying his words and the voices screaming in my skull.

  My instincts demand I take action.

  “Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Trust me.”

  I keep shaking my head, over and over, trying to drown out the mania.

  I’m going to be tied to a table. I’ll be brutalized by anyone and everyone who enters Luther’s house.

  “He’s safe, Anissa,” Luca speaks louder. “Give Cole your gun and let him finish this.”

  I struggle to focus on the conversation. Who’s safe? Cole? Tobias?

  Doesn’t Luca realize nobody is free from harm when Luther is armed?

  I wiggle, attempting to break free of his strong hold but Luca grips me tighter, hugging my back to his chest.