"Shit!" he hissed.
Amethyst eyes met his—gun raised and aimed straight at him.
Dante's gaze locked onto Lyra in Rowan's arms, her hands over her ears, her eyes tightly shut.
It was a trap. They had been waiting for him.
A gunshot thundered through the room.
He twisted on instinct. The bullet missed his heart by inches but tore into his side.
Another echoed strike hit his legs, sending him crashing to the floor before he could run.
Dante groaned in pain, curses spilling from his mouth.
More shots rang out in quick succession. Both of his hands jerked violently as bullets tore through them.
"That's not enough punishment for the hands that touched my wife," Rowan growled.
He kept firing until the sound of boots thudded up the stairs, rushing toward the room.
The rescue team appeared in the doorway, clad in black tactical gear, rifles in hand, faces hidden behind black balaclavas.
