I struggled to my feet, holding Tomb’s bulky body as I stood, keeping all my weight on my right foot. I refused to cower in Risk’s presence or show him how much he’d hurt me.
“I don’t belong to you,” I told him, looking him straight in the eye.
Risk looked over his shoulder at the guards and chuckled, like my act of defiance amused him. “Actually, according to the contract I just signed with Spector, you do. So I suggest you rein in your little spider webs and follow me to our room. We need to discuss your disobedience.”
My jaw clenched as a new rush of hate filled me.
When I heard Crow hiss, my eyes clashed with his. He was hurt, bullets pushing out of his body and falling to the floor as his body healed. But his pallor was gray, and he was swaying on his feet. He was too weak from his earlier torture and controlling his birds. He needed to rest, and I was certain that Tomb was in the same condition, despite his stony determination to protect me.
“Fine, but my mates come with me,” I bartered, though I didn’t really have any authority to make demands.
Risk simply sighed. “If they must,” he huffed, like I was just a huge inconvenience.
He turned on his heels and started to stride away, but I looked around with residual fury at Spector, and it was obvious by the expressions on the guards’ faces that they wanted to collect on the debt of Oz’s life. They didn’t seem too happy with the way Risk stepped in and took me from them.
When Risk noticed I wasn’t following, he turned around, his eyes taking in the hostile stances of the guards. “If you have a problem, I suggest you speak with Mr. Belvini,” he said. “The Black Widow is mine to do with as I wish, and I am the only one allowed to punish my pets.” He paused for a moment while scanning the room again, his eyes landing on where my fingers were pressing into the wound on my shoulder. After staring down the men wielding guns, he spoke again.
“Who shot her?” he asked.
The room went completely silent; the only sound you could hear was my labored breathing.
“Who shot what’s mine?” he asked again while circling the room. He stopped at a trembling guard with a rifle hanging loosely at his side. “Was it you?”
“N-no, sir,” the man stammered in response.
He leaned forward and stared the man down, as if daring the man to lie to him. Neither of them moved for a moment. The silent standoff was filled with toxic tension, and I waited with bated breath to see what the crazy demon would do.
Risk rolled his eyes, then turned his attention to the next gun-wielding gun.
“Was it you?”
This guard didn’t seem as terrified. His spine straightened as he looked ahead, fixing his lips in a firm line before responding. “I was just doing my job, sir.”
Risk grinned maniacally. “Just doing your job?”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied stiffly.
Risk lifted his hand up and capriciously removed a gold ring from his finger and placed it in his pocket. He then stared at his fist for a moment, as if debating what to do with it. No one said a single word. No one moved an inch.
The protectiveness was catching me off guard. Was he asking because he actually cared about me? Or was he just possessive? I got the impression that he would have easily been just as wrathful over a cracked teacup.
Within an instant, Risk shot his fist out and lodged it in the chest of the guard that shot me. His knuckles dug past the chest bone, deeper and deeper until his hand was able to wrap around the guard’s pounding heart. Blood poured from the wound, creating a slick mess on the floor as Risk laughed. “I’m just doing my job,” he said in a deadly calm voice. Then, in one swoop, he ripped the organ from his chest and tossed it on the floor.
The man went wide-eyed and groaned as he dropped to the floor.
Risk wiped the blood from his hands on another guard’s jacket before speaking again. “If anyone touches her again, I will be inclined to burn your spinal cord with hellfire,” he said nonchalantly. “Come along, pet,” he said, addressing me.
My pride wanted me to plant my feet and not move a muscle. But my mates and I were hurt, and I had no doubt that as soon as he left the room, Spector guards would be all over us.
Limping forward, I gritted my teeth as I followed in his wake. Before I could even take three full steps, Tomb was there, his hard, strong body sweeping me up into his arms. The movement jostled the wound in both my leg and my shoulder, making me grimace.
“I got you.”
I rested my head against his obsidian chest, and as soon as I made contact, his body rippled and turned back to skin. I sighed at the warmth and softness of his flesh. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my words meant for both of them.
Tomb’s finger tipped up my chin. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again, Wid.”
“But he was torturing you. Both of you,” I argued, turning my head to look over at Crow where he walked beside us. “All because I mated you. Because I pissed him off in the training room.”
“You don’t get to feel guilty for something that was out of your control,” Tomb said, his tone holding no room for argument.
“Tomb—”
“No, Little Spider,” Crow said, cutting me off. “He’s right. And you won’t win this one. We outnumber you,” he teased.
A shaky smile came over my lips as I rested back against Tomb. I could’ve fallen asleep from the swaying of his movements as he walked,
