Claim

Kira watched as the man who’d called her a bitch dropped to the ground. She hadn’t hit him square in the forehead, which was where she’d been aiming, but it was close enough: the hole made by her gun was near his right temple, his eyes open and unblinking.

She was breathing heavy, adrenaline flooding her body, when she realized the gunfire had slowed. It wasn’t coming all at once anymore, fast and steady.

Now it was quiet except for an occasional burst that sounded too far away to be coming from the lawn.

She crawled to the edge of the bar and looked out from behind it, scanning the lawn frantically for Lyon. Her heart hammered in her chest when she didn’t see him.

She looked again, forcing herself to work slowly from one side of the lawn to the other, taking note of the men on the ground — Lyon’s men, and she saw, a surprising number of Vadim’s. The lawn was quieter now, some of the men moving, some of them still, the remaining men — Vadim’s men, she assumed — retreating into the trees.

That’s when she spotted Lyon, not on his feet as she’d expected, but not on the ground, wounded or dead, either.

He was being carried into the woods surrounding the house by four enormous men in black, Lyon’s hands obviously bound, a black bag over his head.

It was him. She knew it even though she couldn’t see his face.

Her heart froze in her chest. He wasn’t moving.

Wasn’t fighting.

She screamed his name and rushed out from behind the bar with the gun at her side. She’d made it as far as the toppled chairs left behind by the wedding guests when strong arms came around her, dragging her back toward the house.

“He doesn’t want this.” The voice was quiet and calm, Rurik’s accent thicker under stress.

“Let me go, Rurik.” She kicked and flailed, desperate to get to Lyon before they took him away. “Put me down.”

But she might as well have been punching a mountain. Rurik’s grip was like iron. She registered blood seeping from a hole in his stomach, but it did nothing to slow him down as he half-dragged, half-carried her toward the house.

She swore at him, called him names that would have made Zoya blush, as she watched her husband carried across the tree line.

It was no use. Rurik wouldn’t let her go, and she watched as her husband — the love of her life — disappeared into the trees, the distance expanding like a canyon between them.