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“Get me the feeds of the southern and north-western perimeters,” Damon commands. He’s bare-chested. I must’ve been too blinded by lust earlier to have noticed the innumerable scars that are etched onto the skin of his chest, torso, and back.
I don’t have to ask how he got them. They must be the remnants of the torture he suffered at the hands of the terrorists.
A choke forms in my throat but I swallow it down because of the severe expressions on both Damon and Julian’s faces.
“On it,” says Julian, jumping onto his seat before the set of monitors.
I stay back, watching the screens flicker to life.
One of the LCD screens shows people running out of the dorm building while the other shows the stretch of tall walls and vast, empty grounds that stretch toward the mansion.
“Over there,” Julian points.
Looking closely, I see that part of the wall has crumbled. It’s hard to make out the feed from the night vision cameras but it’s clear enough to see that several men are steadily climbing over the rubbles and infiltrating the grounds.
“Fuck. Is an army attacking us or something?” Julian cries out, his gaze focused solely on the screen.
A loud bang makes me jump.
Damon’s fist punches the table beside Julian, causing it to break in two.
I stare, marveling at his strength.
“It’s the Black Widow,” Damon grates through clenched teeth.
Julian zooms on one of the infiltrating men. Even in the dark, the symbol of a fat ass spider is visible on his shirt’s sleeve.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Why the hell are they attacking us?”
“They want to destroy our military base,” Damon says. “They distracted the men by attacking the trainee dorm first. That’s the reason they’re climbing over the damaged wall like fucking maggots without anyone stopping them.”
He straightens and gazes down at both of us.
“I’m going to go and gather our men,” Damon says in a tight voice. “Stay in radio contact with me. I need to know where they are at all times. You can do that, right?”
“Of course,” Julian says at once.
I don’t feel as brave or in control as them. There are more than a hundred terrorists who’re breaching the estate’s walls. Even if our soldiers are armed, it’s going to be a bloody battle.
My insides shrivel at the idea of Damon going to meet them. He’s already been hurt by them once. I can’t bear it if they capture him and hurt him again.
“I’ll go with you,” I say, gazing up at Damon. “I can protect you.”
“No.” Damon’s voice has a finality to it that I hate. “I can’t be distracted. They need me, Iris. They need their commander to get them out of this mess.”
“I can fight,” I say. “You know that.”
“They’ll be armed.”
“I can shoot too.”
Damon shakes his head. The commanding look in his amber eyes intensifies. “I need you here, Iris,” he says as waves of dominance roll over him, silencing my protest. “Neither you nor Julian can be compromised.”
My feet seem rooted to the spot as Damon strides away. I hate the way my inner omega cowers against his direct command.
“Iris, relax,” Julian says in a grim tone. Standing up, he moves toward me and touches my arm. “Breathe.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath and clenching my teeth. Blinking, I force my lungs to breathe.
