1
THEO
“Emmie.”
The pure undiluted fear in my voice echoes around me as time seems to slow to a stop.
Blood soaks her white school shirt faster than I thought possible as my heart jumps into my chest.
“Fuck. No. Please. No,” I mutter to myself as I race forward, although I swear to God that someone’s hit fucking pause on my life.
It’s like one of those nightmares where you just can’t get to where you want to be. No matter how much you want it, you just can’t do it.
Panic, adrenaline and dismay flood me, but finally, I fall to my knees in front of her.
Pain shoots up my legs, but I don’t feel it.
“Emmie,” I shout. “Emmie.”
Her eyes are closed, her lips parted.
If it weren’t for the memory of that stupid fucking shot I just took, then I’d think she was just asleep.
But she’s not.
I acted on instinct, allowing my anger to take over instead of thinking rationally.
I used my heart instead of my head.
The exact opposite to everything Dad has ever taught me.
Leave your feelings at home, soldier. When there’s a gun in your hand and an enemy is in sight, you have to use your head. Otherwise, people get killed. You get killed.
Rolling the fucking prick who thought it would be a good idea to touch something that belongs to me out of the way, I quickly inspect her for a bullet wound.
When all I see is a rip across the shoulder of her shirt and a minor graze on her skin, I breathe a massive sigh of relief.
Tucking my arms beneath her limp body, I push up to my feet, holding her close to my chest.
“You fucking shot me,” a deep, pained voice rings out a second before heavy footfalls come to a stop behind me.
“I’ll fucking shoot any motherfucker who touches my wife.”
His eyes widen as he presses his hand to his shoulder, blood oozing around his fingers.
“Cirillo,” a commanding voice booms. “I called you here to get your girl. Not to shoot my fucking brother.”
My spine stiffens, my teeth grind and my grip on Emmie tightens protectively.
I know they have a history. A quick scroll through both of their social media accounts told me that weeks ago, and it only added to the reasons I wanted to hate her.
She was in bed with the enemy. Literally.
We might tolerate the Wolves, allow them to run their pathetic little business in the estate, but the blood between Archer and me has never been exactly… friendly.
He sees me as a threat.
I see him as a weak little prick.
“Whoops,” I say, turning to face him with a smirk tugging at my lips, masking how I’m really feeling right now while my girl is bleeding in my arms.
She might be in a better state than Dax, but any amount of blood from a gunshot is too fucking much for my wife.
Archer’s brow lifts, the muscle in his neck pulsating with anger.
“He was touching something that belongs to me.” I hold his eyes firm, ensuring he hears every word that I’m about to say. “You might be a part of Emmie’s past. I can hardly erase that. But rest assured, you’re not going to be a part of her future. She’s Cirillo now. And I’m taking her back where she belongs.”
I take a step forward, my gun beside Archer’s foot catching my eye.
Women make you weak.
Love makes you weak.
Dad’s voice echoes in my head as I stare at it.
I dropped it. I fucking dropped it when I ran for her.
You’re the Cirillo heir, Theodore. Heirs do not make mistakes. Ever.
Tension ripples around the room as I hold my head high and close even more space between us while Dax mutters behind me about getting patched up like a pussy.
A couple more of Archer’s boys stand behind him, trying to be threatening but I don’t even grace them with eye contact.
They’re nothing. And they’re all going to let me walk out of here with my wife and forget any of it ever happened.
They know full well that if they don’t, they’ll all be in cuffs and in the back of a paddy wagon before the sun comes up for their less-than-legal business practises.
“Emmie belongs here. She’s Lovell through and through.”
“Nah.” I tilt my head to the side patronisingly. “She was just slumming it until her white knight arrived to show her how a queen should really live.”
His jaw tics as he looks down at her.
“You care about her. I appreciate that. But you called me, remember? You know exactly where she belongs.”
He holds my eyes for another two seconds but has no argument.
I just wish I fucking knew what game he was playing.
Why call me to come take her home and then argue with me about where she belongs?
Is it just his pride talking?
Is he just trying to look like a big man in front of his boys, when the reality is that he’s just riding his big brother’s coattails?
I watch as he lowers down and his fingers wrap around my gun. Mine twitch in my need to stomp on his fucking hand to stop him from touching it.
“You’re right,” he concedes, standing and holding my piece out between us. “She was always too good for this place. For the shit hand she’d been dealt. I’m just not sure how being bound to you is actually any better.”
“Then I guess it’s a good thing none of that is your concern anymore, Wolfe. Now,” I say, finally looking to his backup, “if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to take my wife home and let her sleep off whatever the fuck you and your den of wolves have plied her with.”
“Emmie doesn’t do drugs,” he states confidently, trying to win this pissing contest by proving he knows her.
“I know. But in case you hadn’t noticed, she’s fucking passed out in my arms right now, and I’d put money on it that it’s not from your cheap-arse booze.”
“A-acid,” Dax blurts from behind me. “S-she… we… took acid.”
My fingers curl around my gun as the need to spin back around and take a better shot burns through me.
“You’re lucky she’s in my arms, Daxton,” I growl, taking it from Archer and holding his eyes. “Sort your boys out, boss. They’re a mess. And we don’t like mess on our turf.”
I step toward him, but he doesn’t move.
“And,” I add, “if I catch any of your boys dealing anywhere around Knight’s Ridge, I’ll personally deliver them back in no fewer than one hundred pieces. You got that?”
“We don’t—”
My eyes narrow and he swallows his words.
“You’re right. You don’t. Excuse me.”
I don’t wait for him to move, I just barrel straight through him with my shoulder.
His loyal servants helpfully jump out of my way, allowing me to walk out of their little kiddy playhouse with my woman, vowing to both of us that I’ll never give her a reason to step foot in this shithole ever again. The only person who stops me is a girl who looks completely fucking wasted, but she’s clearly still a little with it because she holds out a bag I recognise as we pass her.
“Look after her,” she slurs, her eyes dropping to Emmie for a beat before I turn my back on her.