Lap of Luxury (Love Don't Cost a Thing)

We crawl to the top of a dune and peer out across the sand, looking for any sign of Navarro and his men. Nothing. Just more sand and scruffy grass.

“I’m sorry that I had to leave you behind and you got caught up in this.”

I glance at Mikhail. “Don’t be. I’m in love with your insane brother. Let’s focus, shall we, because if anything happens to me, your child is going to grow up without a father. Damir means what he said. He’ll kill you.”

“No kidding. I’ll do the same to him.”

As I follow him back down the sand, I wonder if any one of us going to be left alive after today. We make our way in a wide arc through the dunes, circling to the north. Every step is made with caution as we listen for voices.

Then, far across the dunes, I hear gunfire.

“Damir!” I gasp. Mikhail tenses to run, but I grab hold of his wrist. “What do you think you’re doing? Running into gunfire?”

“We need to see what’s happening. I’m not just thinking about Ciara. I’m thinking about you and the baby, as well.”

“I know you are. Come on, but carefully.”

We crouch low and make our way north, away from the house, veering toward the gunshots.

The dunes thin and we have to crouch lower and lower. I keep thinking that I hear heavy footsteps in the sand behind us, but it must be the pounding of my blood in my ears.

Then, up ahead, I see them.

Navarro has Damir and Ciara. He’s raising the shotgun right at Damir’s face. Without thinking, I shoot to my feet and scream his name.

The scene unfolds in slow motion. The shotgun goes off as Damir dives for Ciara, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to the ground. Blood explodes in a vapor around my lover.

He’s dead he’s dead he’s—

Damir, his shirt soaked red with blood, rolls off Ciara and yanks Navarro off his feet by wrapping both of his arms around his knees.

Beside me, Mikhail is firing his weapon. Not at Navarro. At something behind us. His face is chalk white and sweat shines on his brow. Over my shoulder I see a dead man in black fatigues lying on bloodied sand, and another throwing his rifle to the ground and raising his hands.

“Bethany, go and get those guns.”

“But—” I start to say, gesturing over my shoulder where Damir is bleeding and grappling with Navarro.

“Now.”

All he wants to do is go to Ciara, but he needs to know Navarro’s men aren’t going to fire on us

. I race forward, swipe the machine gun and a revolver from the sand, and hurry back to Mikhail.

“Now get the fuck out of here and don’t come back,” Mikhail calls to the man. He turns and runs without being told twice.

Mikhail makes a strangled noise and pelts across the sand to Damir and Ciara, and I follow, slinging the rifle around my shoulder and stuffing the revolver into my pocket

Damir has Navarro on the ground and is standing over him with the shotgun muzzle right in front of his face. Blood drips down Damir’s arm. His shoulder is a mess of pellet wounds and blood.

Ciara sees Mikhail just before he reaches her and sweeps her into his arms. They cling to each other as if their separation has lasted a lifetime, and a pang goes through me. All Damir’s attention is focused on the man lying on the sand.

Navarro looks from one to the rest of us, hatred transforming his face. “You’re filth. You and your slut of a sister and your brother, you murdering bast—”

There’s a savage growl, and then someone lunges forward to kick Navarro in the stomach. It’s not Damir. It’s Mikhail. “Don’t you fucking talk about my sister that way,” he snarls, while Navarro gasps in pain.

Damir glances up at his brother, and says quietly, “You do remember her.”

“Of course I do,” Mikhail whispers hoarsely. “Every day, but some things are too painful to speak of. The day our mother died. The day Nataša died. I never forgot her. Never.”