Page 162

I look down at her bruised face. “No?”

“No.” Her eyes flash. “I'm not going to the hospital while that woman is still breathing.”

“You were kidnapped.”

“And she threatened my child.”

“Our child,” I correct automatically.

Maggie stares at me.

I stare back.

“There’s no chance in hell you're leavin’ me behind,” she says.

Under different circumstances, I would argue, but there’s no time.

“Stay beside Luka,” I tell her.

“I can live with that.”

Ten minutes later, our convoy pulls into the abandoned industrial district south of Savannah.

Warehouse seven sits near the end of a cracked access road lined with rusted fencing and weeds taller than the hoods of abandoned cars. Black SUVs surround the building. Armed men take positions behind concrete barriers, loading docks, and derelict equipment.

Roman stands near the main entrance speaking into an earpiece. Beside him, Enzo looks like a man awaiting execution.

The Italian's expensive charcoal suit hangs loose on his frame. Sweat darkens the collar despite the warm evening air. He crushes a cigarette beneath his polished shoe when he sees us approach. Fear has finally found him.

Maggie stumbles climbing out of the SUV.

I catch her at once, sliding an arm around her waist. “Easy.”

She winces. “I'm fine.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it's true.”

“It’s not.”

Maggie opens her mouth to argue.

Luka closes the passenger door behind her. “Boss is right.”

She glares at both of us.

Enzo sees Maggie and exhales. “You're alive,” he says hoarsely.

Maggie fixes him with a furious look. “Thanks to Alexei.”

Shame crosses Enzo's face before he lowers his gaze.

Roman approaches. “She barricaded herself inside,” he says.

“How many men?”

“Two.” Roman folds his arms across his chest. “Both armed.”