They’d . . . maimed him? I covered my mouth, fearing I’d be sick. He had pawned his watch and car, and it still hadn’t been enough. I’d wondered how deep in he was. I’d never imagined this.
Sevastyan grated, “Let Natalie leave.”
Paxán added, “She’s not involved in this in any way.” He was all coolness on the surface, but I sensed his dread.
“She is!” Filip waved that machine gun toward me, making Paxán hiss in a breath and filling me with fear. “Natalie is the reason I’m in this situation. I was an heir! Then word got out that you were leaving her everything.” Tears began to spill down his blotchy cheeks. “But when my creditors got wind of my courting her, they knew I could win over any woman. Suddenly they couldn’t give me enough money.” He aimed at Sevastyan. “Until they heard that the heiress is with the enforcer. They called in their debts.”
“We spoke about this just two days ago,” Paxán said. “I asked if you needed help.”
That was what they’d met about?
“And I didn’t need it”—he nearly spat at Sevastyan—“until he made his move the same day!”
“Then let’s fix the situation,” Paxán said, drawing Filip’s attention away from Sevastyan. “Money is no object. For the memory of your father, I pledge to settle anything you owe.”
“You don’t understand. I need more.” Tears continued to spill; the gun shook erratically as his fingers seemed to cramp. “The bounty Travkin posted is more money than I could ever see.”
“Take me.” Sevastyan’s expression was filled with menace. “I’m a valuable prize for an enemy.”
“I’m here for the old man.”
Paxán swallowed. “Take your finger off the trigger, Filip, and I’ll go with you.”
“I give the orders! You send the bulldog away, then we’ll talk about your long-lost daughter.”
Sevastyan grated, “That won’t happen.”
“You don’t give a damn about yourself, do you? But what if I threaten your precious Natalie?” Filip aimed—directly at me.
I was staring into the barrel of a gun—too terrified to keep my eyes open, too terrified to close them.
The weapon jogged in his weakening arm . . . only a matter of time . . .
“Harm her and your life ends today,” Sevastyan vowed in a chilling tone. “I’m giving you one chance to leave this room alive.”
Filip’s bravado began to dissipate. “I-I don’t have a choice.” He lifted his free hand toward his forehead, then sniveled at the reminder that he’d lost his fingers. In a wheedling voice, he said, “Just let me take him, Sevastyan.”
“Never.” Had Sevastyan eased toward Filip? “This won’t end the way you anticipated. The news hasn’t had time to reach you, but there will be no bounty.”
“What are you talking about? Of course there is! Why wouldn’t there be?”
“Because just hours ago, I shot Travkin.”
I did a double take at Sevastyan. Travkin was dead? That was the good news Paxán had mentioned?
“You’re lying!” Filip’s gaze darted. “Lying!”
Panicked, I said, “Filip, don’t do this. It’s not too late. We can still fix this.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Sevastyan inching even closer to Filip, until he stood between me and Paxán.
“Freeze, Sevastyan!” Filip cried. “I’ll shoot, I swear to God I will!” Another shaky wave of that gun—
Sevastyan lunged at me just as bullets sprayed the room from wall to wall. Clocks exploded, glass shattering, chimes tolling like church bells. I screamed, the sound cut off when I hit the ground; Sevastyan was atop me, hand cupping my head. In his other hand, a pistol smoked.
Plaster dust clouded the air, but I could see Filip on his back across the room. He was shot in the belly, twisting in pain. Though my ears rang as if a siren was in my head, I could still hear his cries. And something else . . .
Paxán’s breaths. They sounded thick. No, no, no! I struggled to rise, but Sevastyan had me pinned down.
“Are you hit?” he demanded of me.
When I shook my head, he lunged to his feet, charging for Filip.
As Sevastyan disarmed him, I scrambled to reach Paxán. He lay on the floor, blood gushing from a wound in his chest.
Sevastyan snatched the machine gun from Filip, then stalked around the room, checking the perimeter. “Natalie, put pressure on that!” He slammed the office doors closed, bolting them shut.
Kneeling beside Paxán, I pressed both of my hands over his wound. “You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay.” Shock—I was going into shock. And then how could I help my father?
In between grimaces of pain, Paxán looked sheepish. “This is . . . not how I planned things.”
“Don’t talk, please don’t talk.” Blood skimmed past my fingers. Lifeblood. He can’t lose any more. “You have to save your strength!”
Sevastyan dropped to his knees on Paxán’s other side. He put his hands on top of mine, knotting our fingers to bear down with even more force. Sevastyan’s expression was so hard, like granite under pressure. About to crack.
Paxán’s wound wasn’t fatal. It couldn’t be. So why were they both acting like it?