Wrapping her in a bear hug from behind, I lifted her off her feet and dragged her back.
“I fucking hate you!” she yelled at him, fighting like a hellcat to get back at him.
A large part of me wanted to give that to her. She’d more than earned it. The other part of me needed to get her out of there before any of his men showed up.
“Chill,” I growled, but if she was even aware I was holding her, I couldn’t be sure.
The tighter I held her, the harder she fought. And I began to fear I was going to hurt her if she didn’t stop. Her face was already swollen, and God knows what the rest of her frail body looked like.
She needed to get to a hospital, not go another round with Noir’s limp body.
I placed her on her feet only long enough to wrap her back up, this time chest to chest, her arms pinned between us.
She twisted her head around to keep him in her sight. “I hate you!”
“Clare,” I barked.
Finally, her attention snapped to mine. Her body stilled, and she closed her mouth while she scanned my face in awestruck disbelief.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” she said, her chin quivering.
Fuck. Me.
She was alive.
“Chill,” I ordered, holding her gaze, her left eye barely visible beneath the swelling. “We only have a minute before he wakes up. I need you to listen to me.”
She blinked but didn’t reply.
“You listening?” I asked just as I felt the tremble begin to work its way up from her legs.
“How are you here?” she whispered on a shaky breath.
She was about to crash. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically.
Fuck.
“Stay with me, okay?” I urged. “You’re safe. Tessa’s safe. And I’m gonna get you out of here. Can you walk for me?”
She vigorously shook her head as a sob tore from her throat.
She started struggling again, but this time, it was to get closer.
“Shh, it’s okay. I got you,” I soothed, loosening my hold and allowing her the space to move her arms from between us.
They quickly circled around my neck, her legs doing the same at my hips.
Holding her with one arm, I dug my phone from my pocket and dialed. “Tomlinson? I’ve got a woman and a child, both of which need medical attention. Tell me you’re close.”
“Our eyes on Brock Nolan say he is en route, Light. Get them the fuck out of there. I’ve got units on the way to head Nolan off, but you need to leave.”
My head snapped up so I could scan the perimeter, but I did not waste time before striding over to where my gun was on the driveway. “Roger that. I’m out.” I hung up and then tucked my phone away. Keeping a hand on her back, I leaned over to retrieve my weapon. I spared one last glance at Walter, who was still out cold, and then jogged with her in my arms over to the gate.
Roman watched us with haggard eyes as we approached. He had Tessa’s face tucked into his neck, one hand over her ear, her tiny body flush with his.
I rubbed a hand up Clare’s back and asked, “What’s the code, babe?”
“Eighteen-eleven-two,” she replied.
Roman went to work typing the numbers in.
As the gate came to life, the most amazing sense of relief fell over me.
It had slid open only a foot before I turned sideways and carried her out.
She was free.
They were free.
We were free.
With her in my arms and Tessa in Roman’s, side by side, we guided them from Walter Noir’s darkness.
And into the light.
Sometimes, when I dreamed, I’d travel back in time to the days when I’d thought my life was hard.
When paying bills and eating ramen noodles three meals a day had been my biggest challenges.
Back then, I’d feared I’d end up homeless. Now, I feared going home.
Back then, I’d balked at the idea of spending my life washing dishes and waitressing to make an honest living. Now, I worried I’d be ordered to clean up another hideout after Walt had murdered a man for crossing him.
Back then, I’d longed for designer clothes, jewelry, and expensive handbags. Now, I just wanted my heart to still be beating when I finally escaped.
Funny how things could change in the blink of an eye.
My head was down as I approached the table, a pen stuck into the back of my hair, a pad tucked in my apron, and an exhausted smile pulling at my lips. I’d been on my feet for well over ten hours, and if the crowd didn’t die down before the breakfast rush, it was going to be at least four more before I could go home.
“What can I get you?” I asked, placing two napkins followed by forks and spoons on the table.
A hand roughly caught my wrist as I started to pull it away.
It wasn’t the nicest of diners in Atlanta. Shit was actually the term that had come to mind when I’d interviewed six weeks earlier. However, I lived in a trailer two blocks over. I was more than accustomed to shit.