His Revenge (Smoke & Mirrors Duet #1)

Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

LEO

“When the smart call also feels like running, you do it for her, not for you.”

G unshots ring out around us and I hold my breath, grabbing the gun from the small of my back. As the bullets ricochet off the bulletproof exterior around us I can feel her fear encompassing me. A second shooter starts up and I can see the fear in my Butterfly and it makes my heart clench. The glass in the car is currently holding up against the bullets but I cannot guarantee how much longer that will last. I cannot fire back out of the car without finishing off the glass in the passenger window that is protecting her.

The intersection we are at is dead but the train across the road in a block would hold us up. We need the ability to change plans in case the glass gives out. The sound of the back drivers side taking fire from another direction makes it hard to pinpoint the greater of the dangers. Is the person next to us the one running this show or is it the shooter behind us calling the shots? Taking out the clear leader is how I would typically handle a two-on-one gun fight, but she is here and I cannot put her in any additional danger. My car is bulletproof, to an extent, and if I can keep her below the glass she should be safe enough to get out of this.

If it was just me, I would be taking a much more offensive tactical way of thinking but I have no idea how she handles situations like this. The fact that she has followed my unwavering direction since she understood the danger makes me feel more secure. The idea of fighting to keep her safe and having to force her farther into the seat against her will is not a situation I want to be in. There is no way for me to fire back without the windows giving way and putting her in more danger. I cannot risk her, even if it means running away from the fight instead of running into the battle without a second thought. My decision is made for me when the car behind us starts to approach my side. There is no way I am sticking around here with her and no back up.

Grasping her neck to keep her below the metal of the car and press the gas to accelerate through the intersection in the direction of our house. Signs are flying by and I need both hands to maneuver if we get into traffic. She replaces my hand with hers to keep her in the safe position. Reaching under the seat she locates my spare gun. She checks the barrel and the clip and readies herself for a potentially bloody fight. Punching the gas, I floor through the newly red light before the traffic has a chance to start moving. This puts some distance between us and our attackers.

“Are you hurt?” I ask in a panic, hoping that the car provided her the protection that my title did not today. Her hands are steady on the gun, showing me she has been through danger before. While my every day is filled with adrenaline, gunfights, murder, and overall violence, hers is not. Today having her in the literal crosshairs is enough for me to set fire to the world and build her a throne with the ashes. We need to see how well she knows how to use the gun. She did the proper checks when she picked it up but I want her to be as feared as I am.

“I…I am okay. I think. Are you okay?” she asks me, the fear evident in her voice even if it doesn’t carry to her physical reactions. That undiluted fear fills me with enough rage to consider turning around and taking on our attacker in the middle of the street while she drives the rest of the way home. Taking the last turn, I roll up to the gates that open and close quickly behind us. We park in the garage, initiating the panic button from my phone to increase the security protocols and alert the inner circle. We are home. We are safe. Now, it’s time to call my father. Using the speed dial options in my phone, I quickly ring my father. He answers on the third ring, and since I initiated the call, I speak first.

“Father. Yes, it’s an emergency. I am sorry for interrupting,” I say to him wanting to get this conversation over with.

“We were targets of a drive-by shooting today. I could not take them out by myself without putting Fiorella’s life at risk,” I continue to fill him in. Using the 360 degrees of cameras built into my car, I forward him the footage on our secure network. I can hear Enzo calling who I can assume is one of our police force contacts to silence any complaints about the gunfire tonight. We want to investigate this without the involvement of the cops. My father’s only response is to “Send me everything,” before the line goes dead. She secures the safety on the gun and sets it on the dashboard. I will need to get her some holsters if she wants to carry one of her own.

Helping her out of the car, I can see the shaking in her hands and just how much this affected her. At this moment I know what I need tonight, and it is not to go to bed alone. Putting my phone in my pocket, I put one arm around her shoulder and tuck the other under her knees lifting her up. I look into her eyes for reassurance that she doesn’t hate me. She could fight me on this, but I would just sit at her door and listen to her breathing. Either way I will know that she is still alive after being so close to losing her. She has every right to fight me on this but I think it is what we both need tonight.

Holding her close to my chest, she loops her arms around my neck. Walking through the house with long strides, I walk back to my room and open the door. The surprise on her face says all that I need to know. She did not expect to be invited here, much less brought in bridal style. Gently, I set her on the bed on what will be her side of the blankets. With slow and measured steps, I remove her shoes and her dress. That’s when I see the scars on her back for the first time. It takes everything in me to ignore them tonight. She has been through enough today. She looks up at me with confusion and shame swirling in her eyes. Leaving her sitting there in her matching black underwear, I turn around and open my dresser drawer. Shuffling through my clothes, I grab a black t-shirt and set it next to her. Removing her bra, I grasp the t-shirt and pull it over her head. On my knees in front of where she is on the bed I ask her for the only thing I want at this moment.

“Will you stay with me tonight, so I can know you are safe after our drive home?” I ask, swallowing my fear of her rejection. There is a primal need inside me to feel that she is safe, feel her lungs fill and deflate with every breath as a reminder that I didn’t lose her before I even have her. She doesn’t verbally respond but scoots back onto the bed and climbs under the covers. Stripping down to my boxers, I place all of our dirty clothes in the hamper and stop by the mini fridge. Grabbing bottles of water, I walk to my side of the bed. Handing her one of the bottles and waiting for her to drink some of it, I turn on the TV to whatever she was last watching. Using my phone, I turn off the light and plug the device in so I don’t miss a call. Taking a few drinks of my water, I climb into the bed next to her, wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her close. That is when the tears begin to fall from her cheeks onto my chest. Holding her tightly, I stroke her hair and hold her until she finally falls asleep.

The memories of what happened today race through my mind and I cannot stop seeing her fear. Fear that I would hand her back to her father like she is damaged goods. Fear of her scars and what created them. It fills me with rage that my Butterfly has been so unprotected for so long. I fall asleep holding her close, feeling her heartbeat remind me that she is still alive.