Until a shadow descends on the Russian men. I cringe back as a third man hits them from the side, barreling into the pair like a wild animal. The guns go off and I scream as bullets ping against the sidewalk, narrowly missing me. The three men are ina tangle and there’s blood all over the place, blood and groaning and gasping for air.
One of my attacker’s clutches at his throat. It’s slit wide open. Red waves drool down his neck, drenching his shirt. I keep staring at that gash in horror, my mind not working like a frozen phone, until I finally take a step back.
It’s Cormac. He’s straddling the other Russian and jamming a knife into his chest over and over again. Thud, thud, thud, the sound of a fist punching meat, but every time he hits the guy, more blood splatters all over. Cormac looks like a monster, like a demon straight from Hell. He’s drenched in blood and grinning wildly, stabbing over and over, while the Russian gasps and sucks for air, weakly trying to struggle, until he goes still.
“Motherfucker,” Cormac snarls, breathing hard. His knife is left in the dead Russian’s chest, and it’s like time snaps back into place.
I’m suddenly aware of people staring in horror.
“Cormac,” I whisper, trying to make words. But I can barely think.
My husband stands. He’s so big and somehow still beautiful, even with the blood of two dead men covering his shirt. His clothes cling to him, blood showing off the muscles of his chest and abs. He turns to me, his smile fading away as he seems to realize we’re completely exposed.
“With me, right now,” he snarls, grabbing my arm. His fingers leave smears of blood on my bicep as he drags me into the street.
“What happened? Who were they?”
“Dead. They are dead.”
“I mean, but whowerethey?”
“Russians.” His car is double parked a few feet away. He shoves me in and climbs behind the wheel.
“Why would they want to kill me?”
His expression darkens. Terror rings through me. My husband is covered in blood and looks like he wants to bathe in more of it.
“Because I fucked up.” He puts the car in drive. “No more questions. We have to get you home.” He speeds forward, going fast toward home.
Chapter 18
Bianca
I’m shaking as Cormac hustles me inside.
Once the front door shuts, he bolts it, double-checks his security system, and takes off his clothes. “Blood stains,” he says as if that’s a reasonable explanation. He gets a plastic bag and shoves the filthy shirt and pants inside.
“Are you hurt?”
He shakes his head, now almost naked. Blood still glistens on his tattoo-covered skin. “I’m fine. Only angry I was too late.”
“Too late? You saved my life.”
“It shouldn’t have gotten that close.” His jaw flexes. “Your work?—”
“Isn’t changing.” My heart’s racing into my throat. “I have the Willow Foundation to think about. I can’t just?—”
“The what?” His eyebrows furrow. “I thought you were doing food delivery.”
“My shelter. It’s called Second Chances.” I don’t know why, but the name sounds right.
He takes a moment to consider before he nods. “I like it.” Then he grabs me by the elbow and lightly steers me to the stairs. “You should undress.”
“Why?” I look down at myself and realize I have blood on my clothes. “Oh, God. I didn’t notice.”
“You get used to it.” He steers me into our room and begins to draw a bath. “Undress and get in.”
I look at him, trying to decide if this is some kind of crazy trap. “I’m not really a bath girl.”
