Destiny Mine: Tormentor Mine: Book 3

Chapter 7

7

Peter

It’s a testament to the seriousness of the situation that there isn’t a suggestive smirk in sight as I stalk into the kitchen barefoot and shirtless, the smell of s*x clinging to me like some primal cologne.

“It’s bad,” Yan says with no preamble as I approach. “A drunk driver T-boned her at an intersection, and the car rolled three times before landing on its roof. She has over a dozen broken bones and is hemorrhaging internally. They just took her in for a second surgery, but it’s not looking good. Given her age and the extent of her injuries, they don’t think she’s going to make it.”

Every word he speaks stabs deep into my gut. “What about Sara’s father?” I ask, my mind spinning. “Is he—”

“He’s holding himself together so far, but his blood pressure is dangerously high.” Anton’s dark gaze is grave. “They tried to send him home to get some rest, but he refuses to go. Some of their friends are there with him, but there’s only so much help they can provide.”

“Right.” I stare at my teammates, and in their eyes, I see the bleak knowledge of what I’m going to have to do.

The patter of light footsteps on the stairs captures my attention, and I turn to see Sara hurrying down the steps, her heart-shaped face pale with worry.

“What’s going on?” Her sock-clad feet slide on the kitchen tiles as she skids to a stop in front of us. Her hazel gaze jumps from me to my teammates and back. “Did something happen?”

“Give us a minute,” I tell the guys, and they immediately disperse, the twins going upstairs while Anton heads toward the closet by the door.

“Do you want me to prep the chopper?” he asks in Russian as he passes me, and I nod, keeping my gaze on Sara, who’s looking more anxious by the second.

“What happened?” she asks again, coming up to me, and I know I can’t delay it any longer. Reaching over, I clasp her delicate hand between my palms and, as gently as I can, convey what I just learned.

Her face lacks all semblance of color by the time I’m done, and her fingers are ice cold in my grip. Her eyes are still dry, but I know it’s the shock that’s keeping her from falling apart. My songbird was just dealt a devastating blow, and if I don’t act now, she’ll never recover from it.

I will lose her.

I know it.

I feel it.

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I say evenly, “I saw you packing earlier. Are you ready to go?”

She blinks uncomprehendingly. “What?” Her voice is dazed, even as her gaze focuses on me with a sudden desperate hope. “Where?”

“Home,” I say, and the sucking pain in my gut intensifies, the hollowness spreading to engulf my heart. “I’m taking you back, my love, before it’s too late.”