Tempted Hero by Ella Miles

Ri

That was…

It—it was…

Beckett was…

Jesus, I’m speechless.I have no words to convey how being with Beckett felt.

None.

And I don’t have time to process what just happened. Two of Leighton’s men have burst through the door, and I doubt it will take long for more to come pouring in.

I’m completely naked. My legs are still tied to the bed, as is my injured arm. Beckett is on top of me, naked as well. We have no weapons within our reach. We’re fucked.

Beckett’s face turns dark immediately, but he glances back to me, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave me naked and still tied to the bed, but he doesn’t have a choice.

I give him a quick nod to go.

His frown deepens, his brows pinching together, and he turns and jumps off the bed just as the two men approach.

He throws a punch, hitting the first man hard. The muscles in his back contract and ripple as he moves. I get lost in them, just staring at his rippled back. I’m bitting my bottom lip and practically drooling as I watch my naked man fight the two men.

“You going to help, Fighter? Or should I go back to calling you Princess?” Beckett says as he knocks one of the men to the floor.

A blush takes over my body, but I quickly go to work untying my other arm and legs. I’ve undone my arm and one leg, when I feel a shirt hit me. It’s Beckett’s shirt, I realize, as the scent hits me.

“No one else gets to see what’s mine,” Beckett says as he winks at me and takes a blow to the stomach.

Then I notice he threw me more than just his shirt. There’s a knife between the thin fabric.

I quickly put the shirt on and grab the knife casually at my side as one of the men approaches me. I don’t hesitate, jabbing the knife into his chest, and blood spurts all over my hands. I quickly withdraw the knife as his body grows heavy against the knife, and he drops to the floor.

My heart flutters as Beckett’s words sink in—mine. I wish it were true, but I don’t believe him, not yet.

More men start rushing into the room with guns drawn. We are vastly outnumbered, especially with only one knife between the two of us. My arm is still injured. Beckett is still naked. The odds aren’t in our favor.

I glance at Beckett out of the corner of my eye, and he winks at me. We’re in this together. We can do this. We are stronger together than a dozen men.

I jump off the bed with my knife in my hand. I don’t care that the first man I approach has a gun. He aims it for me with a shaky hand, but I know he has orders not to shoot me or I’d already be shot. The gun is useless against me.

I don’t bother knocking the gun out of his hand; I simply duck beneath his hands as I jab the knife up into his stomach. The groan he makes is low but loud. I’ve been taught self-defense my whole life. I’ve killed men, but every time I do, the sounds are what stay with me. The guttural noises haunt me later.

I pull the knife out before stabbing him again in the chest, assuring him a swift death. He moans one last time before falling to the floor with a thud. I turn to watch Beckett turn a gun on the man he’s fighting, shooting him in the gut.

Beckett takes the gun and shoots two more men closest to him, each shot straight in the head between the eyes with perfect aim.

“Want the gun?” Beckett asks me as I approach him.

“Nah, you’re a better shot, and I prefer the knife.”

He smirks down at me. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I take a step in front of Beckett as a man aims his gun as us, but Beckett’s quicker.

“What are you doing? Get behind me,” he commands.

“No, they won’t shoot me. If they did, Leighton or my father would kill them. But they won’t have any problem shooting you.”

“And they won’t have any problem trying to aim for me and accidentally shooting you in the process,” Beckett growls.

“Are you concerned about my well-being? I thought you didn’t care about me?” I tease.

He narrows his eyes on me. “So stubborn, Princess.”

I frown, annoyed that he called me Princess, and he knows it.

But we don’t have time to be pissed at each other. I throw my knife, hitting a man in the center of his chest, then grab Beckett’s gun from him as he’s still trying to get me to move behind him. I shoot at another man, hitting his head. The impact isn’t perfectly between the eyes like Beckett’s, but it does the job.

“Not bad, but you can do better,” Beckett teases.

I grin, and we both run forward, attacking at full speed. Beckett doesn’t ask me to hide behind him anymore. I love that he cares, but I also love that he believes in my abilities. I love—shit, I shouldn’t be thinking about love.

Love is the last thing that should be on my mind. Survival is all I can think about. Figuring a way out of the game my father started. Maybe then I can think about love. But not now.

I shoot two more men as Beckett tackles a man to the ground and wrestles for the man’s gun, but he isn’t able to get the gun completely free. The man turns the gun toward Beckett’s body. All he has to do is pull the trigger, and Beckett would be hit hard in the chest—seriously injured, if not dead.

My gun has one bullet left in it, and there are three men approaching me. It doesn’t matter; I know what I have to do. What I want to do.

I fire the bullet straight into Beckett’s attacker’s forehead with perfect aim. The man falls back, releasing Beckett immediately.

I exhale, my entire body relaxing as I see Beckett unharmed. I’m so consumed with Beckett that I forget about the men still approaching me, the danger I haven’t yet disarmed.

“Ri!” Beckett yells, trying to knock me out of the spell I’m under.

It’s too late. I feel a man’s hand around my neck. Another hand goes around my wrist, yanking it back. I drop the useless gun and try to swing my remaining free hand around to attack the man holding me when I hear a gun fire.

The man’s grip on me loosens as I realize Beckett shot him. Another shot is fired, and a second man goes down. But the third is mine.

His eyes are dark and determined. He doesn’t move, simply aiming his gun at me.

Beckett and I may have been the underdogs when we started, but now, he’s the one who is outnumbered. And he will lose.

I expect Beckett to shoot him dead before I get close to the man, but he doesn’t. He must realize the change in my body. I want to be the one to end this. I need to end this. I need to know I’m strong enough to fight and win on my own. Beckett won’t always be here to save me.

“On your knees, Princess,” the man says, aiming the gun at my heart.

“Or you’ll shoot me? You won’t. Leighton would kill you if you did.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t plan on killing you, just injuring you. I’ll kill your friend, though.”

I scoff, looking at his gun, at the way he’s holding it, his stance, even the way his eyes dilate. He’s young and inexperienced. He’s pretending like he knows exactly what he’s doing, but I’d guess he’s a poor shot, mediocre at best.

“If that were the case, he’d already be dead, and I’d be retied to that bed,” I say and make my move. I dive toward him, keeping a close eye on his gun. There’s no telling what the idiot is going to do.

He fires just as I tackle him to the ground. It seemed wide, but I can’t be sure that he didn’t hit Beckett until I turn around. And I can’t do that until I kill this man—a man who works for the devil. A monster who tied me up and planned on raping me. This man may not have participated, but he’s who I’m taking my wrath out on until I can kill the devil himself.

The truth is I have too many devils in my life, too many I have to kill to be truly free. And as much as I want to do it all myself, I’ll need Beckett’s help.

But that can wait.

I knock the gun from his hand easily. This one isn’t going to have a quick death. I’m too angry. Too pissed off. Too—I can’t admit what I really am. There’s a new fear that Leighton sparked inside me. I’ve always been able to take care of myself, protect myself, keep myself safe.

But this time—no matter what Beckett says, this time I wouldn’t have been able to save myself. I wouldn’t have been able to get free. That is what scares me. I’m not invincible. Despite all my training, there will come a time when it isn’t enough.

I punch the final man in the face, watching blood splatter from the corner of his lip. That little bit of blood gives me an endless bloodthirst. I want to spill every drop of blood from his body before I kill him.

I hit him again. He tries to punch me in the face. I duck easily and hit him harder. He doesn’t get to fight. He doesn’t get to win. He just gets to take all the pain boiling in me.

I throw a punch in his gut and listen to the glorious sound of his groan as pain wrenches through his body. I do it again, and again, and again—harder and harder until he can’t catch his breath.

And then I go back to his face. I hit him over and over. His bones crunch under the force of my punches.

I close my eyes as I keep punching. My breathing is erratic. I’m erratic. I can’t control my movements. I just hit and hit and hit. My heart rate races. My panting quickens. And then I feel the wet sting of tears on my cheeks.

I don’t remember where I am or what I’m doing. I just know that the hitting feels good, that I need this. I keep punching until I’m sobbing uncontrollably, until I’m at my breaking point, about to fall over a cliff.

That’s when I feel an arm wrapping around me from behind. I don’t stop trying to throw punches, though. I’ve been hitting for so long that my body can’t stop. I’m a freight train speeding full force ahead, unable to stop at a moment’s notice. But my arms start flailing around instead of contacting bloody skin. Finally, my arms slow to barely a twitch and then eventually completely collapse at my sides.

But the tears don’t stop. They fall and fall and fall. Every emotion explodes out with them, until I’m trembling from the adrenaline and rage.

The arm around me tightens until my head falls back against a bare chest. As my head rests against his beating heart, everything slows. His breathing and beat of his heart are so relaxed, so calm. It’s impossible for my own not to match his.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move beyond just holding me.

It’s exactly what I need—a quiet space to just exist, to let all the emotions fall away.

No words.

No questions.

Just slow, steady breathing.

He won’t speak first. He’ll wait here forever with me until I say something. Words are hard, though. I don’t know what I should say.

I glance back at him from the corner of my eyes. His strong, muscled legs are on either side of me. As my gaze travels up his thigh and I don’t find any clothes, I remember that he’s naked.

“You should probably put some clothes on before we leave, or we’re not going to have to just worry about Leighton but every hot-blooded woman on the street chasing after us.”

His laugh is delayed but full-bodied. I can feel it rattling through his chest and into my back. It makes me grin widely until I’m laughing too. It’s a different kind of release, but exactly what we both need.

I look back at Beckett, and there’s this intense connection, a shared experience. And dare I say it—a loving look meets mine.

But then he’s clearing his throat. “We should get going. We don’t know if any of the men contacted Leighton before we killed them. He could be on his way here right now.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. But I’m also afraid that as soon as we get up, reality is going to sink in. He’s going to go back to acting like he can’t stand me, and I’m going to go back to being entirely on my own.

I force myself to stand and extend my hand to him. He takes it, and I help him up. There is a deep scowl on his face as he stares at our joined hands.

“Is holding my hand that unbearable to you?” I ask, not hiding the disdain in my voice as I try to pull my hand from his grasp.

He grips my hand harder. “I’m just mad at myself for not having the tools to address your split open knuckles.”

I stare down at our joined hands. My knuckles are indeed bloodied, the skin split open in gaping wounds. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He frowns before he leans down and brushes the softest of kisses against them.

I suck in a gasp at the featherlight touch tingling through my body.

How can he be so caring one moment and so heartless the next?

I rake my eyes down his body, partly to ensure he isn’t injured and partly because I can’t pass up a chance to take in every inch of his beautiful body. His muscles tighten and expand with every breath. I skim down further, enjoying the growth of his cock between his legs. Even with everything that just happened, he’s straining for me, wanting me. I don’t see any wounds, but my gaze goes back to the center of his chest, where a bandage is taped over the center of his chest.

“What’s this?” I ask, my hand grasping at the edges.

He doesn’t speak but just nods as I begin to pull at the corner. He doesn’t react as I slowly peel back the bandage.

I gasp when I see it.

A large tattooed crown sits on the center of his chest. I know what that means.

“You’re initiated? You’re the leader? The boss?”

Beckett nods.

“Did you get retribution for Odette?”

The silence stretches until I’m not sure he’s going to answer me.

Finally, he says, “I’m very close.”