27

27
Six

I stood by the double doors, back straight, eyes fixed on the far wall. My hands were clasped behind me, fingers twitching with controlled tension. I tried not to look—God knows I tried.

But she was in the mirror.

Arabella.

How could I not steal a look?

In beautiful silk and lace, she stood in the middle of the room. The dress clung to her like it was carved on her body, half-zipped and half-exposed, her skin glowing softly under the golden light.

Marco lounged in a velvet chair a few feet away, legs spread, watching her as if she were a prized possession meant for display. He licked his lower lip, a crooked smile on his face.

“She’ll make a beautiful bride, won’t she, Six?” he said, his voice low and smug.

I didn’t look at him. I didn’t even blink. I kept my gaze fixed on the wall, determined to stay detached.

“Yes,” I answered, my jaw set tight. I stole a quick glance at her again.

My voice came out flat. It was hard to stay in control when all I wanted to do was charge at him and send a bullet through his thick skull.

In the mirror, Arabella’s eyes found mine. Bright blue eyes. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She was trying on her wedding dress; under any other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful moment for her.

She should have been happy, but she was sad.

She hated this.

And still, she remained, enduring the tailor’s adjustments to her hem and the stylist’s careful fix of her veil, while Marco rose and strode toward her with the arrogance of a man who believed he owned everything in the room.

The air in the room shifted when his hand reached her.

It slid down her back, fingertips caressing exposed skin along the open seam of her half-fastened dress. She flinched, just a little, but Marco was unmoved.

He had a wicked smile on his face as he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss against her shoulder blade, then her collarbone, as if marking his claim.

He took his time with it; I knew he wanted to leave a mark. He wrapped his arm around her waist, bringing her close to him until her ass was against his crotch.

The room went still.

Giggles erupted from two of Marco’s men near the doorway. They feigned indifference, yet their eyes drank in the spectacle as if it were a sick performance. Bastards. They savored every moment.

Arabella turned her face away, her jaw set in defiance. She tried to pull away, but Marco’s grip was strong.

His arm locked around her waist while his other hand trailed dangerously close to the edge of her bodice.

I felt something burn inside me. Anger. I was one second away from shattering every rule I had made and stepping in.

Then, chaos broke through.

Gunshots.

One. Two. A rapid spray of sound. Shouts. The shattering of glass and terrified screams from outside the showroom.

“Down! Get down!”

“Six!” Marco bellowed, pushing Arabella towards me. “Protect her!”

I moved before thinking.

Another round of gunfire, louder and closer, filled the air. The tailor screamed and bolted for the exit. One of Marco’s henchmen dropped to the floor with a bullet in his shoulder.

Marco was in a crouching position, brandishing his gun, surrounded by his armed men.

I followed closely, Arabella trailing behind me, gun drawn, my eyes sharp, darting to every shadow, every flicker of movement.

We raced through the hallway and burst onto the main floor of the mall, but we were trapped. The attackers had sealed off all exits, pressing in from every side.

“Shit… shit… shit,” Marco cursed under his breath, turning abruptly toward a back corridor.

Guns went off sporadically. Marco and his men ran in the opposite direction.

I pulled a crying Arabella to the side, shielding her with my body. By the time the gunshots had stopped, Marco and his men were long gone.

Without a moment to spare, we ducked into a narrow supply closet. I shoved the heavy door closed, pressing my back against it.

Arabella stumbled inside with me, her dress torn at the bottom, her hair disheveled from its pins.

Her chest heaved, tremors coursing through her body.

Slowly, I lowered my gun. In the tight darkness, all that filled the air was our ragged breathing.

I could feel her trembling through the small space between us. Without thinking, I reached out, wrapping my arms around her waist, steadying her. She didn’t push me away.

She leaned in closer, her forehead gently pressing against my chest.

We stayed in each other’s arms for a while. The gunshots faded into the distance, and nothing else made any sense to me except for her in my arms. She struggled to steady her breathing.

I held onto her until she was fully relaxed in my arms. I didn’t know how long we stayed in that position quietly until she broke the silence.

“I could just run,” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability. “Right now. I could disappear, maybe away from this city, this country even.” She rambled.

“You know better than that,” I murmured, my voice low and rough with suppressed emotion.

Her hands clutched at my shirt. Her eyes teared up as she looked up at me. “He’d find me, wouldn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Arabella let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering closed as she rested her head once more against me.

Time slipped away in that cramped closet, a long, suspended silence filled with unspoken truths.

We didn’t talk. We didn’t move until the noise outside faded into the distance.

Eventually, the gunfire ceased, replaced by the distant wail of sirens. We listened quietly to the sounds of boots against the tiled floor and shouts of panic. The cops were here. I looked up at her and put a finger over my lips. “Shh.”

She merely nodded.

One look at her, and I think she knew instantly from the look in my eyes, it was time to go home—well, it wasn’t exactly home, not to either of us, at least.

Her eyes widened in panic. “I don’t want to go back there.”

“I know,” I replied, my voice barely a whisper.

Her voice cracked with emotion. “Please.”

My throat tightened. Marco would find her. I knew that much—the only way she would be free of him is if he was dead, he and all of his men.

I looked at her terrified face and slipped my hand into her hair, leaned closer, and captured her lips in a kiss.

It was soft for only a moment; she had a cut on her lip, and I suckled on it. But when she moaned into my mouth, I lost control.

I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. I let out a deep grunt when she let me in.

My fingers wrapped around her neck in a chokehold, as the kiss grew passionate.

My other hand was around her waist, pulling her close to me, so her body was pressed against mine.

“Fuck, Arabella…”