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“I’m so damn grateful you came to me even though everything was on the line for you,” I rasp when we come up for breath. “I want you to do that again, and next time I’ll respond better. It’ll take some practice. But I’m a quick learner. I don’t want to lose you.” I can’t lose you.
The emotion is thick between us, when I slide my hand into Lexie’s hair and cup the back of her head, just above the nape.
“I almost ran,” she whispers. “I was going to leave once I knew Valentina was okay. You were right. We’re both runners.”
“I’m reformed,” I murmur. “Even when you said you told Valentina about the photo, I grappled with the idea of trust, but I wasn’t going to run.”
She tips her chin, gazing into my eyes, assessing my sincerity.
“We had a fight,” I assure her. “That’s all. We need to be confident that the relationship can survive arguments, big blowups—the verbal kind—because we’re going to have plenty.” I brush my mouth over hers in a kiss that seals my promise to fight for us.
When I pull back, a mischievous smile blooms on her face. “Is this where the several rounds of hate sex to fully recover comes in?”
Every muscle in my body uncoils, and I laugh. She might end up being my ruin, but what a way to go. I love this woman—everything about her.
“I’d drag you into that elevator and flip the switch between floors to give you a little taste of how good makeup sex can be, but I need to call your father about resources so we can end this nightmare for good. It’s not over yet.”
68
LEXIE
We’re in the command center, deep in the bowels of Huntsman Lodge. Neither Valentina nor I have been here before. But it’s clear Lucas, Cristiano, Zé, Tamar, Antonio, and Rafael, who’s standing behind me in a headset, are regulars.
We’re all seated except for Rafael, who’s talking to my father with his hands on my shoulders.
I glance at Valentina. Her head is on her father’s shoulder. Antonio has a protective arm around his daughter, daring anyone to fuck with her. Once today is over, she can begin the healing process, but it’s not going to be an easy road.
I’m on pins and needles as I glance around, looking for distractions as we wait for the operation to begin.
Wall screens circle the room. The three we’re most interested in are directly in front of us. Marco, Philippe, and their grandfather, Laurent, will be apprehended simultaneously. The cousins will be taken prisoner in Portugal, outside a club at the beach, where they’re expecting Valentina and me to show up. Laurent will be captured in Scotland by my father’s men.
There’s a private plane waiting at a nearby airstrip, not far from the club, to take Valentina and me to a Scottish castle paid for from the proceeds of the flesh trade. The plane will be confiscated by Rafael’s soldiers too.
“Go! Go! Go!” Rafael barks into the headphones, tightening his grip on me.
There’s silence in the room, as all eyes dart from one screen to another. My heart and mind race until I’m enveloped in a muted fog.
It takes the Huntsman soldiers seconds to grab Marco and Philippe, neither of whom put up a fight. But it wouldn’t have mattered. They didn’t stand a chance.
My father’s soldiers are not faring quite as well. The castle is fortified with guards—although they were expecting it—and there are fewer shots being exchanged now. Hopefully that’s a good sign.
Rafael’s talking to someone, but it’s just background noise.
My father’s men used some type of diversionary device that produced a lot of smoke in the castle. It’s started to dissipate, and the images from inside are becoming clearer.
The soldiers are going room to room in search of Laurent. They don’t seem to be encountering any more resistance, but it’s taking forever to find him.
After more time passes, the soldiers signal they can’t locate him. My soul shrivels.
He’s gone.
A tornado rips through me, and I want to destroy everything in sight. The fucker escaped. How could that have happened?
“There he is,” Antonio roars, pointing to an image at the corner of the screen. The soldiers are closing in. Unless he has some type of secret passageway—castles often do—he’s seconds from being apprehended.
“Zero in on that fucker,” Rafael growls, and in seconds the image takes up the entire screen. The monster of all monsters. He’s wearing a suit with an ascot and a fedora. A fucking ascot.
Soldiers enter the room, and Laurent lifts something off the desk—a gun. Before anyone can react, he shoves it under his chin, and blood cascades in every direction.
