The Hollow (Preacher Brothers 4)

Nadja started murmuring frantically, the tape on her mouth making the words indistinguishable. She looked toward the other side of the door with just her eyes, this frantic look in the green depths. I held her stare as I slowly lifted the gun and pointed the barrel up, right where a skull would be.

She started murmuring again and struggling against the bounds. And right when I would’ve pulled the trigger and sent the bullet through the wood and splintering through the fucker’s brain, the door was pushed viciously against my body. I crashed to the side, my shoulder slamming against the wall, the gun getting knocked out of my hand.

All of this took place in a matter of seconds, and when I righted myself, it was just in time to see some big motherfucker charging at me.

I knew it was Maximillian, even though I didn’t know what the bastard looked like.

He crashed into me, my back slamming against the wall again, a picture that had been hanging falling to the ground. The sound of glass shattering couldn’t drown out the violence that swirled within me. I let that rage fester in me and finally explode.

I reared my arm back and slammed my fist against the side of his head, successfully causing him to grunt in pain, his step faltering backward momentarily from the sudden jar. That’s the only opening I needed. I was on him a second later. In one powerful move, I head-butted the fucker hard enough the sound of our skulls slamming against each other echoed in the room. The prick grunted and stumbled back once more.

He’d opened Pandora’s box, and I was letting the demons out to wreak havoc on him.

The violence was a living entity inside me. I felt his hits, knew there was pain associated with them, but all I could do was focus on taking him down. I hit him over and over again, the bastard big like me, muscular. He cursed and grunted, and we fell to the ground, grappling, sparring. He knew how to fight; I’d give him that. But what he didn’t have on his side, what strength he didn’t possess, was the desperation to protect the ones he loved.

I had that tenfold.

I got the upper hand, his body on the ground as I straddled him, as I laid my fists into the side of his face over and over again. The scent of blood filled my nose, the warm, viscous feeling of it covering my fists fueling me on.

“She’s not yours,” I roared but didn’t know if I said it out loud or it played on repeat in my head.

He flipped us before I could stop him. I was now the one on my back with his fists slamming into my skull, my sides. He wore this maniacal grin, roaring out in Russian.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he then said in English. “Nadja will be mine. My wife. My property.”

He was dead before, but now I’d make him suffer. I felt strength climb even higher, slammed my fist into his side, into his kidney. He grunted, and that small window where he didn’t have the dominance was when I grabbed his head, dug my fingers into his eyes, and twisted him to the side. I flexed my arm and slammed his skull against the floor, heard the pleasurable crack of bone meeting wood, and then there was nothing,

Silence.

Stillness.

I didn’t move for long moments, just inhaling deeply, feeling my center align once more. I stood and moved backward and instantly snapped my head in Nadja’s direction. I was by her a second later, taking the tape off her mouth as gently as possible, then repeating the action with her wrists. When she was unbound, I pulled her out of the chair and just held her, keeping her body close to mine.

“Frankie,” she whispered, and I tightened my grip around her body.

“There is only you,” I said over and over again, overcome with the situation, with the very thought she could have been taken from me again, hurt. “There will only always be you, Nadja.”

I felt her tremble, smelled the saltiness of her tears. “Always you.” She held me tighter, and although I wanted to stay in this moment and comfort her, I had to end this.

I didn’t want to let her go, but she pulled back and looked in my face. “Is Wilder okay?”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. I didn’t know how hurt he was, but he was alive, and I was so fucking thankful for that. I kissed her on the lips gently then turned and made my way over to my brother. I crouched where Wilder was and checked his pulse. It beat strong and steady, and I exhaled in relief. “Come on, brother,” I said deeply, and a moment later, I could see him start to rouse, hear the groan spill from him, and a breath of relief left me again.