Wicked Mafia Prince (A Dangerous Royals Romance, #2)(65)

“No,” I whisper.

A light snick tells me he holds a blade down by his side. I know the kind from the sound alone—slim unibody, with a handle that’s bumpy and easy to grip and painted to resemble wood.

I’ve used such a blade. Not my preference, but I know it well. This isn’t knowledge I wish to have. I stiffen as he touches the tip of the blade to my chin.

It’s not a killing place on my neck, but it’s near a killing place. I know to respect the blade.

Lazarus draws his face near mine. I squeeze my eyes shut as he crowds me against the wall, the knife a needle on my chin, now. It’s very near his throat, too.

I resist the impulse to take his wrist and turn the blade back on him. It’s not for me to punish him or pass judgment. “You escaped from Cecil—our guard. You came here alone. You honestly have some allegiance to him? We just need to know where he had you.”

“I won’t tell you.”

“I promised a certain somebody you wouldn’t be harmed,” he says. “Harm, though, it’s a loose term, don’t you think?”

My heart races. He’s a trained fighter with a blade, but I have a weapon, too—surprise. I picture a move—the only one I have—a fast one-two snap designed to put the blade off me and into him.

I can’t. I won’t.

My eyes widen as he pushes the point of the blade into the soft flesh under my chin, breaking the skin.

Blood trickles down my neck.

“Oh dear,” he whispers. “You’re bleeding.”

I suck in a breath, fighting the panic. Bleeding panics a person on an instinctual level. Something else I shouldn’t know. He needs me; he won’t hurt me. This cut is not lethal.

“Why are you protecting him?”

I close my eyes.

“Are you praying right now?”

“Yes.”

“To save you?”

“No, to save you. I’m praying to Jesus for his help not to kill you if I must fight you.”

He laughs, long and hard.

“It’s not a joke,” I say.

“Word of advice: Asking for Jesus’s guidance in the finer points of hand-to-hand combat is like wearing your shoe as a hat.”

“Why? Jesus outshines everything.”

Lazarus smirks. “No—seriously? You really think he can help you right now?”

I’m not in such a good position, but inside I feel hopeful. I try to remember Jesus’s shining eyes. The trickle of blood has reached the divot at my throat.

Lazarus’s gaze is cold. “I formed a question, didn’t I? Voice turned up at the end and all?”

He wants an answer? “I do think it. Jesus isn’t small. He loves even the unlovable.” I surprise myself with this answer. Maybe it’s not too late for me.

“Hmm.” Again he shifts the knife.

I keep my breathing shallow. My mind is reeling. Maybe he wasn’t showing me his beautiful eyes to get me to be a nun. Maybe he was just showing me love. Forgiveness. Showing me himself, so that I would know him. I can’t be a nun, but maybe it’s not too late.

“Whatever turns your crank, sister. Location. Now.”

A distant sound, like the soft slam of a door. Lazarus hears it, too—I can tell by his eyes.

Viktor has arrived.

I know this like I know morning from night and darkness from sunshine. We used to feel each other, he said. I always knew when you’d entered a building.

There’s a thunk in the hall.

“Tony?” Lazarus calls out.

Nothing.

Lazarus pulls me back into the room, away from the door, right before it bursts open.

It’s Viktor, his face bloody. He holds a man at knife point. “The nun comes with me.”

My heart pounds. He came for me. He’s hurt. He has one of Lazarus’s men. But Lazarus has me.

“This is certainly a dilemma,” Lazarus says, as though amused. “Except not really.”

“Behind!” I gasp as a shadow closes in behind Viktor.

Too late. A man puts a gun to Viktor’s head. “Ease up,” the man says.

Viktor stays, his head wound bleeding all over his face.

“Do it or the nun dies,” Lazarus says.

Viktor drops his knife. He’s looking at me. He wants something from me. To move, perhaps. How?

Panic fills me. I can’t think forward like that.

“Viktor,” Lazarus says. “This is a nice surprise.” He kicks away the knife.

“Let her go.”

Lazarus laughs. “Why would I do that?”

“You have me.”

“But haven’t you heard? Two birds in the hand are better than one in the bush. No? That’s not how it goes?”

The man presses the gun to Viktor’s head.

Lazarus drapes an arm around my shoulders and addresses Viktor. “Now, what’s this lead on Kiro I’ve been hearing about?”

Viktor gazes at me, dark eyes shining. He’s hurt—I can tell from the way he breathes. A rib, maybe. He tries to conceal it. “Gut me. Bleed me. I do not give up my brother.”

“You know we only need to kill one of you for the Dragusha brother prophecy to die, and it looks to me like you’re volunteering. So that’s basically already happened. But why not two? I think it would make a statement. Lazarus 2.0, biotches.”