Reaching behind him, Khalid gripped Marty’s robe and jerked her back as all hell seemed to break loose.
Aman threw himself into the room, his body flattening against the floor as his weapon began to spit a rage of gunfire that seemed never ending.
Ducking over Marty, Khalid laid the barrel of the P90 over the tub’s rim and began firing himself. He knew the general area. He had only one chance.
Glass showered around them as bullets sliced through the window. He was aware of Marty ducking, covering her head as he lay over her, his heart racing, fear clogging his throat as his weapon began to click.
His ammunition was exhausted.
Holding her to the floor of the tub, Khalid waited.
Silence filled the bathroom as he slowly eased Marty’s Glock from her grip, his eyes meeting hers as she turned her head to stare back at him.
“I love you,” she spoke silently, her lips moving as her pale face reflected her fear that Aman was only laying in wait to see if his bullets had struck before moving again.
Bracing one hand beside her head Khalid began to lift himself to check.
What he saw caused a breath of relief to ease from his lungs.
Aman lay on his back, his eyes staring up silently as blood pooled around him.
Shayne stood in the doorway staring at the body with icy eyes as Khalid calculated the number of hits his brother had taken.
His aim, despite his inability to do more than lay the weapon over the tub’s edge, had been on target.
Shayne lifted his gaze from Aman’s body to Khalid.
Rising from the tub, the Glock now held loosely in his hand, he helped Marty up.
“Fuck me,” Shayne breathed out roughly. “Do you know how many of these bastards I had to go through to get here?” He indicated Aman’s still form. “I bet he had a dozen men in this fucking house.”
Stepping over the body, Shayne gripped Khalid’s arm and helped him from the tub as Khalid lifted Marty against him.
“We’ll need the doctor here,” Khalid ordered. “She’s been shot. Call her fathers and check on Abram. Ayid was sent to kill him.”
“Got it.” Shayne moved quickly as Khalid swung Marty into his embrace and carried her to the bed.
Staring up at him, Marty reached out, touched his cheek, then his lips.
“It’s over,” she whispered.
As he laid her on the bed, Khalid sat slowly beside her, his gaze lingering on her face as Shayne spoke on the phone behind him.
“It’s over,” he agreed.
A tremulous smile shaped her lips. “Still love me?”
“Like the sun loves the flowers that brighten its day,” he whispered. “Like a body loves the heart that beats for its life. God help me, Marty, I love you until I know I would die without you.”
He couldn’t exist without her. There was no life, no heart, no soul if he lost the spirit that kept him alive. Marty was the life, the heart, the spirit that had kept him reaching for a new day since he’d met her when she had been no more than fifteen.
A part of him had known then. His soul knew now. The pleasure she gave him, the warmth she filled him with, the touch that kept him centered to the earth was more than he could bear losing.
She was his heart. She was his soul. She was a pleasure that held no guilt, no shame. A pleasure that met his, matched it, and heated the coldest night.
His Marty.
“I love you, Khalid,” she whispered.
And he smiled. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he truly smiled.
“And I, precious, love you.”
About Lora Leigh
Lora Leigh is a 36-year-old wife and mother living in Kentucky. She dreams in bright, vivid images of the characters intent on taking over her writing life, and fights a constant battle to put them on the hard drive of her computer before they can disappear as fast as they appeared.
