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“Clear,” came back a second later. “Fucker had a knife and an attitude that took some correcting.”
Ian was already cutting through the rope binding Sofia and pulling her free and into his arms. He dimly heard Charlie calling that he and Eric were sweeping the building, but his attention was all on her.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you,” he murmured, sitting against the wall with her in his lap. He held her tight, cradling her to him. “You did great. You were so brave.” He pressed his face into the top of her head, wishing he could kiss her, but he knew he didn’t have that right. Not after that last fight between them. God, he’d give anything to take those harsh words back. Of course he wanted her in his life—in every way he could get her. What had he been thinking, pushing her away just because he was afraid to be in love? The prospect of being without her love was a hell of a lot scarier.
Sofia raised her face to his. “Ian.” There was a world of emotion in that one word. She got a shaky hand to her eyes, dashing away the tears. “I thought I was hallucinating when you—when I saw you, but you’re real. Here. You came.”
“I promised to keep you safe,” he reminded her, his smile crooked.
Sofia seemed to realize only then that she was in his arms. He loosened them and helped her stand, turning her so she didn’t have to see the lowlife who’d held her captive. She flinched as a series of blaring sirens pierced through the factory.
“It’s okay,” Ian reassured her. “That’s the police.”
“And the DEA,” added Eric, joining them, Charlie behind him. “Now things should start hopping.”
