Saved was better than dead, that was for damn sure.
I tried to suck in a steadying breath, curling my fingers of my left hand in a tight fist, aiming, and striking out.
Even if you didn't make perfect contact, a fist to the throat got quite the reaction.
Choking.
Gasping.
An involuntary urge to grab one's neck.
His hand left my mouth.
My breath sucked in.
And I did what I had to do.
I screamed for help.
"Christopher!"
Pain exploded across my cheekbone as my attacker recovered, as he struck out.
It was over.
Even I knew it was over.
Surely he knew his boss well enough to know that as well.
But his weight pressed me to the bed still as his hands tried to stop my flailing, slapping, scratching.
I hadn't even heard the footsteps, the door flying open.
The next thing I was aware of was the light flashing on, nearly blinding me with its intensity for a moment.
Until my eyes adjusted.
And I could see my attacker.
Niko.
Niko?
Even as the realization started to sink in, Christopher's hand was grabbing the back of his suit jacket, yanking back hard enough to throw the man backward, releasing his weight from me.
Instinctively, I scrambled up the bed, arm shooting out, grabbing for something, anything that could be used as a weapon.
In case Niko wasn't acting alone.
In case more of the men proved disloyal.
I should have been watching the door for that possible threat, but I found myself unable to look away from a shirtless Christopher as he yanked up the struggling body of one of his, slamming him back against the wall, Niko's head whacking against the trim surrounding the window.
What struck me the most as the two men came to blows was the silence from Christopher.
I imagined if I found a man who was supposed to be loyal to me doing something awful, I would be screaming at him while I kicked his ever-loving ass.
Not Christopher.
And if anything, his silence was much more chilling.
His silence.
And his violence.
There was nothing restrained or merciful about him as he grabbed Niko by the throat and slammed his head back into the window, glass shattering, blood spurting out, splashing across Christopher's face as Niko cried out.
There was no mercy, either, when Christopher yanked him forward, then slammed him back against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Ten times.
Niko's cries died down as his skull crushed in, as the life left his body.
"Christopher," Alexander's voice called, a little hesitant, a little uncertain, dragging my attention over to where he was standing in the hall, a gun in his hand, several of Christopher's other men behind him, faces all wearing identical masks of shock.
Whether that was because of Niko's betrayal, or Christopher's reaction to it—was anyone's guess.
"Christopher," Alexander tried again, voice a little more forceful, dragging his brother's attention away from the corpse he was still holding on its feet against the wall, rage blinding him to the fact that it was over. When he got his brother's attention, his chin jerked over toward me on the bed, making Christopher's gaze follow, landing on me.
The blind rage in his eyes slipped away, seeming to see me for the first time.
The tension slipped out of his shoulders. His heaving chest expanded as he sucked in a greedy breath, slowing his breathing, bringing him back down inside his body.
His blood-soaked body.
Worry filled his dark eyes as he took a few tentative steps toward the bed, gaze moving up and down me, seeking injuries.
There were none, not really.
Not external ones.
The internal ones? Well, they were old, scabbed over. This had just ripped some of the scabs off, leaving me raw and bleeding.
Not that I showed him that, though. At least, I hoped not. But, somehow, I felt my lower lip quiver.
I was not a lip-quivering type of person.
But it quivered.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice so soft I could barely hear it from several feet away.
My head shook, words caught in my throat.
"You're sure?" he asked, moving to take a step forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
Turning, he found his brother—calmer, more focused. "You're covered in blood," he told Christopher, voice low, but it carried in the quiet room.
Christopher's gaze moved over himself, then went over toward the disfigured body of Niko, then back to his brother. "Put her in my room," he demanded. "Don't leave her," he added, moving past the bed. "Deal with this," he barked to Laird in the doorway as he closed himself in the bathroom, the water immediately sputtering on.
"Miller, hey," Alexander called, making me realize I had been watching the closed bathroom door for long enough that Alexander had been able to approach the side of the bed without me noticing. "Hey, come on," he demanded, reaching out toward me, then yanking his hand back when I jolted away, holding out his palm instead. "It's alright," he told me, voice hushed. "Come on. Let's get out of here," he offered, motioning toward the door.
My body responded to the command even as my mind felt slow and sticky, making it hard for any thoughts to come to the forefront.
I noticed as I made my way toward the door that Christopher's men had moved inside, creating a sort of human wall in front of Niko's lifeless body.
His hand was visible, though.
The same one that had been over my mouth.
I stared at it for long enough that Laird moved in front of it as Alexander finally grabbed my wrist, urging me forward, out into the hall, across it, then into Christopher's room, closing the door as he flicked on the light.
Much like his study, this room was undeniably masculine. The bed was King-sized and covered in black sheets and a comforter, everything askew from Christopher jumping out of it when I had screamed.
There were doors to each side of the dark wood nightstand. Closet and bathroom.
"Miller, are you alright?" Alexander asked, losing some of the calm certainty he'd had back in my room, sounding a lot more like the boy he still was. A boy who had a gun in his hand without hesitation during a tense situation. A boy who seemed perfectly comfortable with it there still.
I gave him a tight nod, making my way toward the bed, sliding in, pulling the covers up over my body, curling into a tight ball, taking a deep breath, and breathing in the scent that always clung to Christopher—a spicy cologne or body wash, something distinctly masculine, but not overpowering.
Comforting.
I found it comforting as my mind raced back and forth from past to present, as it became hard to tell the two distinct incidents apart in my head, making my stomach roll, making me both sweaty and cold at once.
I could feel Alexander's gaze flicking to me anxiously as he waited for an adult to come and take his place, clearly not equipped to handle this situation on his own.
Eventually, what seemed like a lifetime later, the door clicked open.
Nothing was said, but you could practically hear the silent conversation between brothers, Christopher motioning for Alexander to go back to his room, Alexander jerking his chin toward the lump of me beneath the covers.
Feet shuffled, the door clicked, this time locking.