The Bonds We Break by Becca Steele

TWENTY-THREE

By the time my fingers closed around the handle of the fifth door, I was beginning to regret bringing the bolt cutters and the shovel. Carrying one in each hand was fine, but two in one hand wasn’t ideal. Shifting my grip, I swung the door open.

I had about five seconds to scan the room.

It was long enough.

Five…a long trail through the thick layer of building dust on the floor, with footprints at regular intervals, like someone had been dragged into the room.

Four…the whole side of the room was missing, covered with the plastic sheeting that I’d seen from the outside.

Three…two chairs in the centre of the room, facing away from the missing wall.

Two…a girl, slumped in one of the chairs, eyes closed, her head lolling to the side.

One…a flash of silver and a dark shadow.

My body reacted on instinct, fuelled by the rage that burned a white-hot path through my veins. Dropping my hold on the door and gripping onto the shovel and bolt cutters in both hands, I twisted my body and swung out. There was no time to think, but I knew I had to do it.

Everything happened so fucking quickly.

A loud curse word that definitely wasn’t in English, then a body slamming into mine, followed by a slashing pain across my side.

The bolt cutters fell from my grip as I was knocked to the floor. Blinking, I climbed to my feet, my eyes taking in the scene in front of me in an instant. Littlefinger, also clambering to his feet, a knife clutched in one hand and the other grasping his thigh where there was a gash in his jeans, a dark red stain seeping through. I allowed myself a second of satisfaction as I stood up straight.

“You’re going down, fucker.” I grinned, without humour for once, but with the knowledge that he was about to pay for what he’d done.

He lunged at me with the knife, but I was ready with my zombie killer shovel.

I swung it.

It connected with his head with a loud, satisfying thunk, and he dropped to the floor like a stone.

Without even wasting another breath, I ran across the room to where Jessa was tied to the chair and let the shovel fall from my fingers. Smoothing her hair back from her face, I gripped her chin in my hand. “Jessa?”

She looked so fucking small and fragile.

And she wasn’t waking up. Why wasn’t she waking up?

“Jessa!” Fuck, why couldn’t I think?

I placed my hand against her chest and felt it. The slight rise and fall, shallow but there. She was alive. I wasn’t too late.

My eyes fucking stung.

“Jessa, wake up. Fuck, please.” Dropping to the floor, I went to clasp her hand in mine, and that’s when I realised she was tied to the chair. Why hadn’t I noticed?

My fingers betrayed me, shaking too much to undo the knots. With a groan, I tore myself away, running back to my discarded bolt cutters and swiping them from the floor. With a quick glance at Littlefinger to make sure he was still out cold, I raced back over to Jessa and carefully cut her free, finally managing to untie the bonds. Her wrists and ankles had been rubbed raw, and there was a trail of blood running down her leg from a spot on her upper thigh. My gaze tracked over her body, a red haze of anger descending as I took in the darkening bruising around her throat and thigh. If I hadn’t got here when I had…

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Carefully, so fucking carefully, I lifted her into my arms and sank to the floor. A whimper of pain tore from her.

“Jessa?”

“C-Cass?” Her voice was so hoarse that I could barely make out what she was saying. Gritting my teeth against the rage that flared up again, I kept my attention on her. Her lashes fluttered, and then she slowly blinked her eyes open and looked up at me.

My breath caught in my throat. The green was dulled, the whites of her eyes shot through with red. Her skin had paled beneath her tan, and her normally pouty, soft lips were cracked and almost colourless.

She gave a slow, heaving breath, her body shuddering against mine. “Petr?”

“I took care of him.” Even though I tried to keep my voice soft, it came out as an enraged growl. “That fucking bastard deserved so much more than being knocked out by my zombie killer.”

The tiniest of smiles tugged at her lips, and there was an ache in my chest. “Zom—”

“Yeah,” I interrupted to save her from talking when she was in so much pain. “My shovel. Doubles up as a zombie killer, or in this case, to knock out—”

A small scraping sound was the only warning I had, but my instincts were on point today, and I lifted Jessa off me, pushing her behind me and spinning around in a crouch. Littlefinger was lunging at me, knife in the air, and my shovel was too far to reach.

The wrench.

I yanked it from my pocket and threw my arm out, connecting with his shin as hard as I could. A howl came from him, and then there was another noise from behind him as he fell into me—shouts and running footsteps.

His weight was only on me for a couple of seconds before it was gone.

When I looked up, Creed was standing there, extending a hand to me.

Climbing to my feet, I turned away from Littlefinger, trusting Creed to deal with it. The only thing that mattered right now was making sure that Jessa was okay.

“Wait.” He stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Watch what happens. You’ll both want to see this.”

My gaze slid back to Littlefinger and the tall, grey-haired man in the black suit that was standing in front of him. I nodded and made my way back over to Jessa. She’d actually climbed to her feet, and although she was gripping onto the back of the chair, holding herself unnaturally still, I was so fucking proud of her. Defiance that I thought might have died gleamed in her eyes as her gaze focused on Littlefinger, the green brighter again, and that ache in my chest grew, impossible to ignore.

I carefully curled my arm around her waist, drawing back when I heard her hiss of pain. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “J-just bruised.”

Before I could reply, her attention was caught by the man standing in front of Littlefinger. His features were harsh, his face showing no expression as he spoke to Littlefinger in Russian, shaking his head at Littlefinger’s replies. When Littlefinger gestured towards us, Jessa’s breath hitched, and I placed my hand over the top of hers, curving it over the metal chair back. She leaned into me, swaying slightly on her feet but letting me support her, and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I think that’s one of the Volkovs,” I murmured to Jessa. “You know, Creed’s business associates. The ones that were connected to Petr.”

She didn’t reply, focused on the conversation between the two men. Now that she was standing here, everything in me wanted to go over and take another swing at Littlefinger, to hurt him until he was begging for mercy. To make him pay for what he’d done to Jessa.

But I didn’t have to.

Littlefinger’s voice grew louder and pleading, his hands gesturing in the air, while the Volkov guy remained impassive in front of him. Creed stood just to the side of the two of them, his pose deceptively casual, but I recognised the coiled tension in him, ready to act at any moment.

Volkov moved so fast I almost missed it. A casual, graceful flick of his hand, and a blade sliced along Littlefinger’s throat from left to right, quick and precise. Blood began spurting out as shock entered Littlefinger’s eyes, grasping at his throat with a look of complete disbelief on his face.

He fell to the ground, blood pouring from beneath his fingers, and Volkov turned his back in one final, deliberate movement. Next to him, Creed pulled out a tissue from his pocket and calmly dabbed the flecks of blood that had hit his cheek. After dropping the tissue onto Littlefinger’s now unmoving body, he smiled, slow and satisfied. Leaning across to Volkov, he said something too low for me to hear, to which Volkov nodded, then disappeared from the room.

Creed tapped out something on his phone before looking up again. “Clean-up crew are on their way.” He raised his voice, directing his attention towards me and Jessa, so I nodded in acknowledgement.

“It’s over now.” I placed a kiss to the top of her head, and she made a tiny noise that sounded like a sob.

Fuck.

It tore me open.

“Jessa, I—” My sentence was left unfinished because the door was bursting open, and Caiden and Zayde were piling into the room.

Jessa stiffened in my arms, moving slightly, and I winced at the sudden pain in my side.

What the fuck? Drawing back from her enough to see properly, I looked down at myself.

It was at that point I realised that there was a line of blood seeping through the fabric of my T-shirt.