The Rake (Boston Belles 4)

You’re not going to die.

You’re not going to die.

You’re not going to die.

I pushed harder, faster, my legs cramping and my biceps hurting. After a few feet, I heard voices again. It was only then that I dared open my eyes. They stung with sweat and dust. The air-con fan looked back at me. I was only a few feet away.

The voice rose from underneath it.

“If you’d have told me—” Emmabelle tried, her voice brave and strong and everything she was that I loved so much.

“You’d have done nothing,” he roared.

I pushed myself farther, wriggling like a worm toward the opening of the air duct.

“Well, I’m here to tell you if my baby is not going to have a future—and I certainly can’t give him a future, then yours is not going to have one either …”

Just as he said it, I punched the air duct open, and fell right through it, bringing half the wall down with me.

I lifted myself up, even though a sharp, tear-jerking pain in my left leg told me I’d almost certainly broke it.

Frank turned around, and I used the element of surprise to pounce on him, throwing all my weight against him and reaching for his knife. Unfortunately, he had the upper hand of not needing to crawl his way into this place seconds ago. He stuck the knife in my shoulder, twisting it about. I let out a growl, pushing my fingers into his eye sockets. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I wasn’t going to die before knowing Emmabelle was safe.

From my periphery, I could see Belle hopping her way from the couch to the kitchen awkwardly, still bound at the ankles and wrists. A line of blood ran down from under her belly button, disappearing into her panties. My mind kicked into overdrive. If something happened to that baby … my baby …

“Ahhh!” Frank was screaming, letting go of the knife—which was still, by the fucking way, in my shoulder—waving his arms in the air helplessly. “My eyes! My eyes!”

There was a warm pool of blood underneath us, and I knew it belonged to me. I couldn’t keep it up any longer. Concentrating, I tried to scoop out one of his eyeballs, which wasn’t as easy as he made it sound, since his eye sockets were pure, dense bone and I had to crack through them.

“Stop!” Frank roared. “Stop!”

But then he was the one who stopped.

In fact, he fell right on top of me, driving the knife even deeper into my shoulder as he collapsed.

There was a steak knife stuck in his back. And above him, stood Emmabelle, breathing hard.

Now, I decided, was a perfect time to succumb to unconsciousness.

So that was what I did.

I woke up in a hospital bed.

Everything hurt.

Everything, other than my shoulder, which I couldn’t feel at all. I snuck a peek down at it, frowning, and saw that it was bandaged and in a sling.

My eyes wandered around the room, which seemed to be never-ending, wall-to-wall light oak cabinets and medical equipment.

Cillian stood in front of a window overlooking the parking lot, talking quietly on the phone. Hunter sat on a recliner beside him, typing on his laptop, and I could hear Sam’s voice carrying in from the hallway.

My mates were here.

My family, naturally, was not.

But what really worried me was Sweven.

“Emmabelle.”

That was the first word that left my mouth.

Cillian swiveled, his signature cold gaze rolling over me like an icicle.

“She’s fine,” he assured me. “Persephone finally managed to pry her away from your side to get some checkups done. The doctors are keeping her for observation.”

“I need to see her.”

“She’s three rooms down.” Hunter looked up from his laptop, closing it.

I stared at him point-blank and said again, “I need to see her.”

“Okay, okay. A crazy bitch with some unsolved daddy issues coming right up,” Hunter murmured, placing his laptop on the light oak wooden table and scurrying out of the room.

I closed my eyes, dropping my head back to the pillow. “Is this all my bloody American health insurance bought me? This place is one fruit bowl away from being someone’s 90’s-style kitchen.”

“Be thankful the wood you’re surrounded by isn’t a coffin,” Cillian clipped.

The door opened, and Sam walked in. I’d never been overtly happy to see the guy, but now I was downright disappointed. I was expecting Belle.

He closed the door after him, holding his phone. “I’m sure you’d like to know my service is no longer needed. Simon’s out too. Frank’s dead—thanks to the deranged woman you’re in love with—and the man your mother hired, Rick Lawhon, is taken care of.”

I knew taken care of was code for pining for the fjords. Brennan was an extremely prolific killer. If we ever hit an overpopulation issue in the States, I had no doubt he’d be the bloke to fix it.