March Heat: A Firefighter Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Chase Jackson

  My dad whitened. He knew the threat. Give them the money, the software, or whatever they were after, or I would not be coming home.

  His eyes narrow, hardened. “I will do as you ask. But please, understand I am not at the top of the food chain here. I need to make some calls. Can you call me back in one hour?” He sounded professional, hiding his fear.

  “Andrew, it’s me again.” The leader turned the camera to face him. He smiled, softly. “You see she’s safe. I promise that me nor my men will harm her if you deliver on what we ask. I will give you her location once I have the software. Then you will wire me the money. Then we will leave, and you can organize a helicopter to come and get her.”

  “Deal,” my dad said.

  “You have half an hour. Then I’ll call you. I expect movement, Andrew. Don’t let me down.”

  Half an hour? Fuck. Come on Cruz, where are you?

  I saw my dad nodding on the screen, his face distorted. Deadly silence enveloped the room.

  Until it was suddenly broken.

  There was a grunt from outside the house, followed by a shout an instant later. Then a gunshot echoed around the valley, quickly followed by another. A group of angry voices began shouting at each other outside the house.

  “What was that? What’s going on there? Is Alexandra safe?” I heard my dad pleading, his voice high-pitched with worry.

  The gang leader hung up the call. “Vladimir,” he said, “check what the fuck is going on outside. Now.”

  Vladimir grunted and headed to the window. The two door guards had been peering through the dirty glass, hands cupped as they jostled each other for a better view.

  Two more gunshots sounded again in quick succession.

  “And you two idiots! Did you not hear that fucking rifle? Are you competing to see who gets shot first?” He was screaming now, veins pulsing on his neck and spittle flying from his mouth.

  I sat down on the bed, hands on my head protectively. I couldn’t help but feel a welling of emotion in my stomach, a tight knot of positive energy building. I looked up at the men in the room.

  I knew it. Cruz had arrived. These men were all as good as dead.

  To my disbelief, Vladimir went to the window, slapping the two morons out of the way. I don’t think he had heard what the leader had said. He poked his head out and shouted something in Russian.

  “Vladimir! What the fuck are you doing? You are all fucking m…”

  Blood sprayed from Vladimir’s head, and he flinched back from the window as the gunshot echoed around us. He turned to look at us. There was a gaping hole in his eye socket, the wall behind him showing straight through it. He tried to raise his arm to point at the window, only to collapse to his knees, convulsing. He fell over sideways, motionless.

  Cruz

  My third target had been a slippery fuck. I’d shot at him, only for him to duck the moment I squeezed the trigger to take cover behind the remains of an old wall.

  Motherfucker just dodged a fucking bullet! What the fuck! Ain’t never seen no one do that shit before.

  I saw the pate of his bald head sticking four or so inches above the molding brick of the wall.

  I quickly reloaded and took careful aim. He didn’t manage the feat twice, the top of his skull exploding with a spray of horrid gore like I’d just shot an overripe watermelon. My confidence was restored.

  Four shots.

  Movement at the window caught my eye again. I turned the scope toward it, seeing two stupid Russians glaring through the dirty glass. They were saved by their own stupidity, each of them pushing one another erratically as they peered through the glass. I wasn’t wasting my last bullet on a potshot at two fucking idiots.

  Then, something amazing happened. The two men were slapped aside by a hulking figure. An ugly head popped out of the window, forming a perfect target. I was almost stunned by his sheer arrogance and stupidity. I reloaded the rifle, chambering my last bullet.

  I took aim at his large head. Just before I fired, I saw him shouting something, probably at the mobsters hiding here and there around the farmhouse. And then he looked straight at me, his eye fixing on the scope, narrowing.

  The bullet went straight through his left eye. His head jerked back, and he dropped out of sight.

  Five bullets gone. Four kills. I kissed the wooden stock of the rifle and threw it away into the undergrowth beside me. I recovered the 9mm pistol in front of me and tucked it into my boot.

  I didn’t have any time to waste. I had to seize this moment of confusion, and pounce on the remaining gangsters before they were able to formulate some sort of effective defense.

  I edged back from the tree I was kneeling at before rolling to my right, up on my feet in one swift movement. I ran parallel to the edge of the embankment heading for the old fence, which was to be my cover as I approached the house.

  I chose the revolver as my first weapon—well made, powerful, accurate and reliable. Clicking the safety off, I ran along the right side of the fence, ducking into a crouch as I sprinted as fast as I could at such an ungainly angle.

  As I got halfway to the house, I stopped my straight sprint and started a monkey run instead, shifting my weight from right to left as I ran, my steps awkward and wide. It was hard to get a decent shot off at someone who was stepping from side to side erratically as they ran; I knew it all too well.

  A gunshot echoed off to my left as I was spotted. It had come from outside the house, at the corner of the left wall. I spied movement from the edge of my vision.

  Seeing a relatively undamaged section of fence ahead, thick with bramble and weeds, I stopped suddenly, rolling across the hard ground into a crouch. I popped up from cover, right hand extended, left hand steadying the revolver as I rested it on the wood. I then closed my left eye and lined up my target’s chest into the iron sights. I’d covered enough distance for range to be irrelevant to my aim. My finger squeezed the trigger twice, letting the recoil subside for a split second before firing off the second shot. I was up and running as my target dropped to the floor, twitching.

  Bullets sprayed well above my head as I continued my run. One of the Russians was using what sounded like an UZI to shoot at me from a downstairs window of the house. But he may as well have been shooting with his eyes closed.

  I reached the end of the fence, my approach masked again by thick overgrown weeds. I heard quiet Russian voices, likely on the far side of the wall where I’d shot the bullet dodger.

  Approaching the cover of the fence, I stopped, picking a small rock up from the uneven ground beneath me. I threw the rock over to my right, hearing a thunk as it struck brick. Alarmed shouts from what sounded like two men, mere meters from where I was, drifted towards me.

  I took a deep breath and sprung up onto my feet, aiming the revolver over the fence. Two men were aiming their guns towards the noise of the rock I’d thrown. I shot them both in the head in quick succession, the snap of the recoil light in my tensed forearms.

  I hurdled the fence a moment later, landing lightly on my feet. A sudden flare of pain erupted in my left arm as I was shot, the bullet ripping through the flesh of my left tricep.

  One of the Russians in the ground floor of the house had spotted me, his pistol blazing rapidly as he fired off rounds in my direction. The angle was tight, his view obstructed by the narrow window he was shooting from.

  I jumped the wall and landed next to a Russian body as I leaned into the corner of the wall, where it met the outside of the farmhouse. I flexed my left arm, looking around for movement, but seeing no one.

  I glanced at my forearm. Just a flesh wound.

  Confident I was safe from danger, I quickly tied a bandage tightly around my left arm, staunching the blood flow somewhat. I edged along the wall of the farmhouse in silence, eyes scanning my surroundings.

  I figured there were at least two Russians on the ground floor, and at least two upstairs. Alexandra would be upstairs, likely against the back wall where there were no window
s. I had reached the back of the farmhouse and poked my head around the corner. Still, no one in sight. I guessed the two men I’d just shot had originally been stationed on the far side of the building.

  Suddenly, I heard a woman’s scream from upstairs.

  Alexandra, I’m here. Hold on, doll.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Alexandra

  The Russian gang leader had me by the hair. He was talking quietly, likely issuing orders at his remaining men.

  I heard muffled voices from outside of the building, the scrape of movement.

  A gunshot sounded from outside of the house. Two more gunshots sounded, and I heard a grunt from nearby.

  An automatic weapon suddenly exploded from downstairs in short bursts. It was deafeningly loud, followed by deathly silence. Then two more gunshots rang out from off to my left, nearer.

  The sound of rapid pistol fire cracked from the ground floor. I heard a triumphant shout from one of the men downstairs.

  The leader, still holding my hair, ran towards the stairway, shouting down. I screamed in pain.

  Then I heard a window smash from the ground floor. Another two gunshots sounded below me.

  Guess you didn’t get him, I thought with relief.

  My captor flinched as a Russian suddenly started screaming in pain from the ground floor. I could hear the blood curdling agony in his voice as he carried on screaming in a pitch even I would struggle to match.

  My heart swelled with pride at the thought of Cruz and his cold blue eyes as he took out my kidnappers one-by-one.

  Cruz

  She was definitely upstairs. I had two bullets left in my revolver. It was time to finish this.

  I looked up and saw a window above me. A plan sprang into my mind. I executed it immediately.

  As I stood, I smashed the window with the butt of the Tokarev as I drew it from my waist. I pointed the revolver into the room, shooting two bullets blind.

  There was a second of silence.

  And then a high-pitched scream pierced my ears. I heard pure agony in the Russian’s voice as he cried out in pain, probably for his God or his mother.

  I threw the revolver down at my feet, ammo spent. I raced around the wall, ducking below the high, narrow windows. The screaming masked my run.

  I was at the front door. I held the Tokarev in both hands, lifted my left foot and smashed the door. Wood splintered.

  I was in the room in an instant. There were three men. One was on the floor, still screaming. He was holding his thigh as blood pumped in unceasing gushes onto the dirty floor around him.

  Femoral artery. Game over, you fuck.

  An UZI lay next to the man, forgotten in his blind agony. The other two stared at their comrade in stunned silence as his wails started to quiet somewhat. I shot all three in two seconds, the two standing dropped like ragdolls, joining their comrade in a macabre heap. Running to pick up the UZI, I dropped the Tokarev. I didn’t know how many rounds were left, and I wasn’t risking Alexandra’s life on the preparedness of a dead Russian KGB agent.

  I checked the clip of the UZI. A brass 9mm bullet shone like rose gold at the top of the magazine. A spent clip lay on the floor behind the Russian.

  I had 35 rounds of death in the long clip that extended well past the handle. Enough to take out a room of Russians. I wouldn’t dare spray it at them with Alexandra possibly caught in the middle though.

  Alexandra

  Through the screaming downstairs, I’d heard a door smash violently, followed by three loud, clear gunshots. The screaming ceased immediately. Heavy boots thudded along the wooden floor below us ominously. Then a couple loud metallic clicks, followed by silence.

  The two remaining men had drawn silver pistols. My captor had a long, brutal knife held at my throat. He backed towards the mattress I’d been seated on moments earlier.

  He barked orders in Russian to his henchmen. They stared at him, open mouthed, and he screamed at them in rage. In response, they exchanged glances and shrugged. Then they both ran down the wooden stairs to face Cruz and it was over in an instant.

  Cruz

  Shoes thudded on the floor above me. I pointed the Uzi at the top of the stairs in my right hand, steadying what I knew would be horrendous recoil by clasping my left palm over my right wrist.

  Two men ran down the stairs, guns held low as they sprinted down. I didn't even have to aim. The UZI bucked violently in my hands as I held down the trigger. I sprayed bullets left to right at the men in an indiscriminate hail. They both tumbled and fell to the floor in a heap, motionless.

  I dropped the UZI and drew my short 9mm pistol from my boot, clicking off the safety. I unclipped my combat knife, moving it to the back of my pants, out of sight. After a moment to ensure the two who’d charged down the stairs were in fact dead, I ran up the stairs two at a time with my gun raised in front of me, ready.

  Other than a giant Russian corpse with a huge hole in his head, there was only one man left standing. And he had Alexandra held savagely by her hair, a long knife held inches from her neck.

  My heart lurched at the sight of her. Head held high, her gaze was defiant. She smiled when she saw me, tears streaming down her lovely cheeks.

  I froze. One wrong move and it had all been for nothing. I looked at the Russian, his face was calm. His eyes blazed.

  “Cruz, how nice that you could join us. I’m sorry I was not able to be more…hospitable. In other circumstances, I’m sure I could have offered you a lucrative deal, but alas.” He motioned at the body near my feet.

  “If you think I’d ever even consider working for you, think again, you slimy fuck. I’m not here for money.” I glanced at Alexandra.

  “Aha! I see now. So you are more than just a bodyguard. How very touching.” He sneered. “If I kill her now, all of your considerable efforts will be for nothing. Then I will kill you.” His face started to contort, twitching with anger.

  “I don’t think so,” I said calmly, calling his bluff. “You kill her, you got nothing. All of this will be for nothing. Weeks, months of preparation. Promises to your buyer you can’t keep. Debts you can’t pay.” I looked him in the eyes. He seethed with rage. “Listen to me, because I have one final offer for you.” I threw the pistol I was holding down the stairs behind me, the metal clattering loudly on the wooden steps. “I’ll give you one chance to kill me, you dirty Russian fuck. I’m unarmed. That was my last gun I just threw away.” I held my hands up.

  “Put your fucking hands on your head,” he spat. “Do it!”

  I complied.

  He pushed Alexandra behind him, and she fell to the floor heavily with a thud.

  My hands were on my head as he cautiously approached, knife held in his right hand at his waist. He inched forward, incredulous as I stood stock still. His eyes were wide, mixed with anger, adrenaline, and fear. He dropped into a fighting stance, his left arm raised in a guard.

  He thrust the knife at my gut, punching it forward from his hips, expelling air powerfully as he did so.

  I twisted my body to my left, and the knife slashed through air. Then I reached behind my back to draw my own combat knife, and in one fluid movement, I brought the knife up into his gut, twisting the knife brutally as I yanked it back.

  Amazingly, he pivoted as I stabbed him, sending his knife slashing across my chest. He’d swung the blade wildly at my neck in a last-ditch attempt to kill me outright. I’d simply leaned back, the tip of the blade merely grazing skin and ripping my t-shirt open, revealing bulging muscles beneath.

  I moved back, sidestepping to put myself between him and Alexandra as I kicked away the gun lying near the big dead Russian as I did so.

  The man in front of me struggled to stand, blood pouring from the wound in his gut. Even with immediate medical aid, it would still likely be fatal.

  “You fucking bastard. This is my favorite t-shirt,” I said calmly, standing a few meters from him.

  He laughed softly. “You Americans think you are so funny.
It won’t be funny when my employers find you and kill you! I will be waiting for you in hell!” He began laughing maniacally, blood frothing from his mouth.

  It was my turn to laugh, deeply and heartily. He looked up at me, frowning. Blood loss had forced him onto his knees and he held onto a chair behind him for support. “You mean the rogue government agents who hired you?” I said. “I don’t think so. Last I heard, two were dead. And the one you were working for—well, let’s just say someone I know was onto him. He won’t be alive for much longer.” I shrugged. “Probably already dead, actually.”

  The man in front of me was a vision of rage and disgust as he stood up through the pain, taking a faltering step towards me. “You… you fucki…”

  But before he could finish his words, he collapsed to the floor, still. I kicked the knife away from his hand as I approached. I checked his pulse. He was dead.

  Alexandra

  Cruz had appeared at the top of the stairs like an avenging angel. He was as calm as ever, steady and motionless as he’d taken measure of my captor. My heart swelled at the sight of him, tears flowing from my eyes unashamed.

  I’d managed to see the swift and brutal knife fight from my vantage point on the floor. It was over as soon as it had begun. I began weeping uncontrollably with joy as the evil bastard collapsed to the floor.

  Strong hands gently raised me from the ground. Blue eyes locked onto mine with deep concern, scanning my body for injury. Big fingers brushed tears from my cheeks.