Pop! The shooter’s head explodes with a bang. Her bullet hit its target. Twisting, she turns and fires at the one hiding behind the truck.

Using the distraction she’s providing, I change my course, snaking around the truck where the remaining man is taking shelter. As I come up behind him, I see him aiming at Nora—and with a bellow of rage, I squeeze the trigger, peppering him with bullets.

He slides down the side of the truck, a bloody mass of lifeless meat.

There are no more shots, the resulting silence almost startling.

Panting, I lower my guns and step out from behind the truck.

Chapter 37

Nora

As Julian emerges from behind the truck, bloodied but alive, I drop the AK-47, my fingers no longer able to hold on to the heavy weapon. The emotion filling my chest goes beyond happiness, beyond relief.

It’s elation. Stunning, savage elation that we killed our enemies and survived.

When the wall exploded and armed men ran into the hangar, I thought that Julian had been killed. Gripped by blinding fury, I opened fire on them, and when they began shooting at me, I ran mindlessly, operating on pure instinct.

I knew I wouldn’t last more than a couple of minutes, and I didn’t care. All I wanted was to live long enough to kill as many as I could.

But now Julian is here, in front of me, as alive and vital as ever.

I don’t know if I run toward him, or if he runs toward me, but somehow I end up in his embrace, held so tightly that I can barely breathe. He’s raining hot, burning kisses all over my face and neck, his hands roaming over my body in search of injuries, and all the horror of the past hour disappears, pushed away by wild joy.

We survived, we’re together, and nothing will ever tear us apart again.

* * *

“These two were near the chopper,” Lucas says when we come out of the hangar in search of him. Like Julian, he’s bloodied and unsteady on his feet, but no less deadly for that—as evidenced by the state of the two men lying on the grass. They’re both groaning and crying, one clutching his bleeding arm and the other attempting to contain blood spurting out of his leg.

“Is that who I think it is?” Julian asks hoarsely, nodding toward the older man, and Lucas smiles savagely.

“Yes. Patrick Sullivan himself, along with his favorite—and last remaining—son Sean.”

I gaze at the younger man, now recognizing his contorted features. It’s Rosa’s assailant, the one who got away.

“I’m guessing they came in the chopper to observe the action and swoop in at the right time,” Lucas continues, grimacing as he holds his ribs. “Except the right time never came. They must’ve learned who you were and called in all the cops who owed them favors.”

“The men we killed were cops?” I ask, beginning to shake as my adrenaline-fueled high starts to fade. “The ones in the Hummers and the SUVs, too?”

“Judging by their gear, many of them were,” Julian replies, wrapping his right arm around my waist. I’m grateful for his support, as my legs are beginning to feel like cooked noodles. “Some were probably dirty, but others just blindly following orders from their higher-ups. I have no doubt they were told we were highly dangerous criminals. Maybe even terrorists.”

“Oh.” My head starts hurting at the thought, and I suddenly become aware of all my aches and bruises. The pain hits me like a tidal wave, followed by an exhaustion so intense that I lean against Julian, my vision going gray.

“Fuck.” With that muttered expletive, my world tilts, turning horizontal, and I realize that Julian picked me up, lifting me against his chest. “I’m going to take her to the plane,” I hear him saying, and I use all of my remaining strength to shake my head.

“No, I’m fine. Please let me down,” I request, pushing at his shoulders, and to my surprise, Julian complies, carefully setting me on my feet. He keeps one arm around my back, but lets me stand on my own.

“What is it, baby?” he asks, looking down at me.

I gesture toward the two bleeding men. “What are you going to do with them? Are you going to kill them?”

“Yes,” Julian says. His blue eyes gleam coldly. “I will.”

I take a slow breath and release it. The girl Julian brought to the island would’ve objected, offered him some reason to spare them, but I’m not that girl anymore. These men’s suffering doesn’t touch me. I’ve felt more sympathy for a beetle turned onto its back than for these people, and I’m glad Julian is about to take care of the threat they present.

“I think Rosa should be here for this,” Lucas says. “She’ll want to see justice served.”

Julian glances at me, and I nod in agreement. It may be wrong, but in this moment, it seems right for her to be here, to see the one who hurt her come to this end.

“Bring her here,” Julian orders, and Lucas heads back into the hangar, leaving Julian and me alone with the Sullivans.

We watch our captives in grim silence, neither one of us feeling like speaking. The older man is already unconscious, having passed out from heavy bleeding, but Rosa’s attacker is quite vocal in his pleas for mercy. Sobbing and writhing on the ground, he promises us money, political favors, introduction to all the US cartels . . . whatever we want if only we would let him go. He swears he won’t touch any woman again, says it was a mistake—he didn’t know, didn’t realize who Rosa was . . . When neither Julian nor I react, his bargaining attempts turn into threats, and I tune him out, knowing nothing he says will change either of our minds. The anger within me is ice-cold, leaving no room for pity.