Page 90 of Desperate Measures

“Then stay quiet,” the smaller one yelled, kicking my bare foot with his booted one.

Pain shot up my ankle and I whimpered. Nausea rose in my throat, and I dry-heaved twice, forcing my stomach to relax.

“Is she gonna fucking puke?”

“You fucking better not, you fat bitch,” the short mean one warned, and I shook my head, avoiding his beady-eyed stare.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm my fractured nerves.

Then I heard them. Gunshots broke out and the sound of bodies crashing to the floor reverberated through the ceiling. I heard grunts, screams, and something breaking.

He’s here. He’s come for me.

The noise was coming from the floor above us. I had already figured out I was in some kind of unfinished basement with the hard floors and the smell of damp hanging in the air.

The sound of gunfire reverberated through the walls, more shouting, and eerie silence followed that. The two men guarding me finally started to get a clue.

I watched amused, as they frantically called for help on their comms.

Only there was no one left to answer.

“Those probably don’t work down here. But if I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time trying to find out. I would run before whoever that is shooting your friends upstairs comes busting through that door,” I warned them.

Maybe it was bravado. But I didn’t think so.

Besides, did they listen? Of course not.

They didn’t take my advice. And I couldn’t say I was sorry when seconds later, the door got kicked open and Liam came through soundlessly, splashes of blood decorating his hair and face, dripping off the enormous knife in his hands.

Relief filled me. He was there, and I was going to be okay. I knew it down to my bones, but my lips still wobbled as tears spilled from my eyes.

Liam’s gaze flicked to mine for one split second and I saw his jaw clench. Then he spun back towards the stunned man standing right there, raising the hand holding the knife.

Liam roared as he sliced through the bastard. It was the one who kicked me in the foot earlier, and I couldn’t say I felt bad as Liam cut his carotid artery with one downward motion of his arm, sending a spray of arterial blood splashing across the wall.

My father rushed in right behind him, and I heard two shots fire directly into the other man’s chest. The smoking gun hung limply at his side after it was finished, and he turned to me with a grim expression.

“Doshen’ka. Are you hurt?” Dad asked, looking me over but allowing my husband to tend me.

I never appreciated my father’s control so much as I did right then.

Tears blurred my vision, and I shook my head, mouthing my thanks.

“I will always come for you, Doshen’ka.”

Liam and my father seemed to have come to a truce, and I was so grateful for it. For them. For these hard, powerful men who would do anything for the ones they loved.

I am lucky to be loved by them.

My husband dropped to his knees, not caring about the dirt or blood decorating the floor. He muttered reassuring phrases and apologies as he cut my bonds.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. Are you okay? Did they touch you?” he asked, but I couldn’t talk yet.

I crumpled, throwing myself at him, and good, strong man that he was, he caught me. Liam caught me and clutched me to his chest, holding me tight, putting all my pieces back together.

“Come. We must go now,” my father said, patting my head and arm, giving the latter a paternal squeeze.

I appreciated it. And I wanted to hug him. But I couldn’t make myself let go of Liam.