Page 111 of What Doesn't Kill You…

"Get her," Damien roared before choking and coughing.

"Cover your nose and mouth," someone shouted.

More coughing. The sound of retching.

"I can't see a fucking thing," somebody grated out.

"On the right," came a familiar voice. Rodrigo. Max felt a surge of hope. Violet wasn't alone.

A gunshot rang out. Somebody grunted. A heavy thud reverberated through the floor under Max.

"Man down! Damien? Where are you? We need to get out of here." One of the guards was still trying to do his job.

Max felt like his lungs were on fire. Every instinct told him to escape outside, into the fresh air where he’d be able to breathe. But he was trapped under the sofa while war played out in the smoke-filled room.

"Where is she?" Damien shouted, then coughed. "I'm going to kill you, bitch."

There was the sound of gunfire from directly above Max. Damien was firing wildly. Unable to see anything but shapes after being blinded by the light from the flash-bang.

"Got eyes on red shirt," another voice called out. It was Scottish. One of the triplets.

Max could have cried if he wasn't so banged up and still choking on the smoke.

There was a shot. Someone grunted in pain before a barrage of gunfire filled the room. One of the guards had been struck and was firing at everything. Glass shattered as bullets hit the wall of windows facing the beach. The wind whipped into the room, clearing some of the smoke.

"Where are the rest of my guards?" Damien demanded.

"They're occupied," Violet replied. "Probably dead by now. You're all alone, Damien, and I'm coming for you."

Damn, she was magnificent. And terrifying. Max felt like a fool for thinking she ever needed his protection. Violet was born to be in the middle of a fight. Her skills were testament to the fact. He would have to learn to protect her in other ways.

If they came out of this alive.

Another gunshot.

"I’m hit," a voice shouted. It was filled with disbelief. "They got me in the gut. Somebody help me."

"Where are the rest of my men?" Damien called, his voice rough from the smoke. "They can't all be dead. She's one fucking woman." His voice sounded as though it was coming from right on top of Max.

The smoke had all but cleared now, leaving a foggy haze in its aftermath, but it was a little easier to breathe. Max opened his good eye and got a skewed, sideways view of the room. His vision was blurred as tears streamed down his face. Slowly, images began to appear. His heart stilled as a face came into view. A guard lay on the floor in front of the sofa. His eyes open in the blank stare of death.

"I'm coming for you, Damien," Violet taunted. Her voice echoing around the room. "I told you I would. Nobody can save you now. You're mine."

"Where is she?" Damien screeched, sounding hysterical. "Somebody shoot the bitch."

Footsteps running. Max turned toward the sound. Someone was over at the door, fumbling with the handle. He blinked several times before he recognized the bookcase guard. The man coughed as he threw the door open and rushed out into the corridor. It slammed shut behind him.

"Fucking coward." Damien screamed as he fired his gun into the dispersing smoke.

Movement caught Max’s attention and he spotted a small shape, dressed in black, creeping across the floor. Violet was hunting. He smiled.

Something nudged at his back, and he looked over his shoulder to see Damien’s Italian leather shoes shift to the side. Rolling over, Max peeked out to see what Damien was doing. The coward was hiding. He’d angled himself behind the cover of an ugly painted screen, his attention on the middle of the room. Slowly, he raised his gun as a cruel, satisfied smile curved his lips.

He was aiming at Violet.

And she had no idea he was there.

Suddenly, everything moved in slow motion. Max knew there was no time to warn her. No time for her to react before the bullet hit. There was only one thing he could do to save her.