Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
The alternative is twiddling their thumbs, waiting for precisely what usually happens. Nothing. I may be a target, but the club is untouchable, a pillar in Beverly Hills. When even the mayor holds events inside, not even my father's worst enemies dare to touch it.
But they aren't Naz. My father may think he can handle him, but I think all he's likely to do is wake a sleeping giant. Naz isn't Adrian Lombardi or Eamon Callahan. He's in a class of his own.
"Twenty-five, motherfuckers." Cathán slams his hand down on the table behind me as he declares victory, making me jump.
"Son of a bitch," Conri growls. "How the fuck do you keep beating us?"
"Probably because hasn't drunk half a bottle. He can still fuckin' count," Seán mutters, earning a round of laughter from the other three.
I roll my eyes, turning back to the dance floor. I make another circuit, letting their laughter and joking wash over me, trying to focus on anything other than my own furious thoughts. Halfway through another circuit, something bangs against the doors to the club.
I turn in that direction, my brows furrowed in confusion. Is Niall back already?
Confusion turns to horror as the doors burst inward, splintering into pieces as if someone blasted them apart at the seams.
"Fuckin' hell!" Seán roars as four men storm into the club, guns drawn.
But it's not the four with guns I notice. It's the gorgeous devil behind them who captures my attention. Naz.
He strides into the club as if he owns it, cool self-possession in every step. He doesn't care that he shouldn't be here. He doesn't care that he's breaking and entering. He doesn't care about anything. His expression is ice cold, completely devoid of emotion as he steps over the threshold.
And then he sees me.
His amber eyes lock on my face, his expression morphing from ice cold to burning hot in a split second. It scalds me, stoking to life an answering blaze deep in my soul.
I take a step toward him, pulled like a magnet again.
And then something…flickers on his face. Fear slides through his eyes, so much of it that it steals my breath. It's the first time I've seen that emotion from him. Perhaps the first time he's let himself feel it.
The sharp crack of gunfire explodes around me, bullets shattering glass and splintering wood. Splinters rain down around me as I drop to the floor, screaming.
"Brynna!" Naz roars, terror in his deep voice.
Terror surges through my veins, too, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I curl into a ball, covering my head with my arms.
Please, God. Please.
I'm not sure what I'm praying for. My safety? His? Theirs?
I sob as shot after shot rings out, along with grunts and curses. I don't dare lift my head, though. I'm too fucking afraid to look, to see. If Naz…
My mind catches on the thought, refusing to even form it.
The gunfire ends as abruptly as it started, fading to an eerie almost-silence. All I hear is my own panicked breathing, my own racing heart.
And then someone drops to their knees beside me, reaching out for me.
I cower away, sobbing. Screaming.
"Brynna, mi alma," Naz whispers. "I'm here. You're safe."
His deep voice cuts through panic, searing through the shards of ice around my heart. I sob his name, scrambling toward him.
He hauls me into his arms, holding me so tight I'm not sure which of us is more afraid in this moment, which of us is more grateful.
"Naz," I sob, burying my face in his throat, breathing him in. I let the scent of his expensive cologne wash through me, let the strength of his embrace root me to reality. This is the moment I exist in, not the terrifying few that just passed.
Footsteps thump across the dance floor, moving toward us. I shrink in his arms like a coward, trying to hide in his embrace.
"I've got you, mi cielito," he whispers against my ear, stroking his hand through my hair. "Nothing is going to happen to you." He lifts his head, his voice turning hard. "Everyone, get the fuck out. Now."
"Príncipe, what about…?"
"Get the fuck out, Nicolas," Naz growls, a ferocious warning full of menace and venom. I shiver at the sound, at the inherent authority in it. This isn't a request, it's a command to obey or suffer for it.
His man knows it, too.
"Everyone, out!" Nicolas shouts. "The príncipe says we're done here."
No one says a word as they retreat, obeying without question or complaint. Within seconds, the club is completely silent. Naz and I are the only ones left. At least, I think we're the only ones left alive.
I lift my head, needing to confirm my suspicions, but Naz stops me. "Don't look, mi alma," he murmurs, regret heavy in his voice. "There's nothing here you need to see."