Page 59 of His Cruel Exception

Unlucky bastard.

My gun goes off a second later, sending a bullet straight into his temple. He drops to the floor, and I put two more bullets into his chest and stomach before stepping over his body.

I pull open the heavy doors and burst into a long corridor, my gun raised as I look in both directions. There are several doors on either side, and I have no fucking idea which one leads to the room where they're keeping him. I start with the first door on my right, throwing it open to find an empty room with a few pieces of furniture. The next one is locked, so I kick it until the lock gives way, only to find what looks like a storage room.

I move on to the next room, barely sparing it a glance before continuing down the corridor. Every empty room makes me angrier, and the thought of Alexander lying somewhere in this building, injured or worse, dead, has me gripping my gun so tightly that my knuckles ache.

I reach another door and shove it open, only to find a frightened man crouching behind a desk. He reaches for the gun beside him, but I shoot him before his fingers can close around it.

“Fucking idiot,” I mutter, stepping back into the hallway.

I continue checking the rooms, until I reach the last door at the end of the corridor. I shove it open and it slams against the wall, and the sight that greets me makes my stomach clench. Alexander is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, his hands and legs bound. He flinches at the noise and jerks backward, sending the chair crashing to the floor.

“Alexander!”

I rush to him and drop to my knees beside him, pulling out my pocketknife and carefully cutting through the zip ties around his wrists and ankles.

“Fuck, baby,” I mutter, and help him sit up. “I’m sorry.”

I cup his cheeks, but he winces when my fingers brush against the swollen side of his face. I drop my hands, trying to swallow the lump in my throat and pull him against me.

“I've got you, baby. I've got you.”

Tears fall from his eyes and something squeezes in my chest. “I told you not to come,” he sniffs, smacking my chest.

I wrap my arms around him, holding him as carefully as I can while his body shakes with sobs.

When he told me not to come because it was an ambush, I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Even after everything those bastards had done to him, he was more concerned about my safety than his own. He had no idea whether he would make it out of here alive, yet he was willing to sacrifice himself to keep me from walking into their trap.

Alexander's selflessness is one of the many things I love about him, even if it makes me want to shake some sense into him sometimes.

My little stripper has no idea what he means to me.

For weeks, he's been telling me he loves me, and I've been too stubborn to say it back. I've convinced myself that showing him how I feel is enough, but looking at him now, I realize how much I need him to hear those words from me. And the moment we leave this forsaken place, I'm going to tell him. I'll make sure he never has to question how much I love him again.

“I'll always come after you, baby,” I tell him, pressing a kiss to his hair.

I'm just about to lift him into my arms when I hear someone enter the room. I've been so engrossed in Alexander that I've completely lost track of what's happening outside, and by the time I straighten, Francesco is already standing in the doorway.

His face is twisted with fury, and his gun is pointed straight at me. “You bastard!” he screams, pulling the trigger.

The last thing I hear is Alexander's scream.

I blink my eyes open, but the light is so fucking bright that I immediately close them again. My head feels heavy, and there's a dull ache somewhere in my body that gets worse when I try to move. I have no idea how long I've been out for, but the steady beeping beside me and the smell of antiseptic tell me I'm in a hospital.

I try opening my eyes again, only to give up when the light makes my head throb. My mouth is dry, and even the simple act of swallowing feels like too much effort. I can hear people talking nearby, their voices becoming clearer as the fog in my head slowly begins to lift.

“He opened his eyes, I'm telling you,” I hear Enzo's voice say.

“The doctor said it's possible he wakes up today.” That's Marco.

“Don't forget he also opened his eyes three days ago, and still nothing happened,” Carmine adds.

“Let's wait and see if he opens them again,” Raffaele says.

Three days ago? How long have I been lying in this fucking bed?

I try to remember what happened, but my thoughts are still muddled, and the last thing I can clearly recall is Francesco raising his gun at me. Then Alexander's scream.