by Sybil Bartel
Marek threw up his arm, elbow bent, fist clenched. Both Luna and I halted.
A second later, gunfire erupted.
I shoved past Marek, and I was running.
Dodging between the trees, jumping over branches, palms lashed at my face and arms, but I kept running until I hit a clearing.
Talerco was behind the open door of his Challenger unloading his AR15 at the gray van as Genevieve scrambled up the front steps of the house on all fours. She hit the top step, shoved the front door open and fell inside.
But she didn’t close the door behind her.
Goddamn it, she didn’t close the door.
My rifle trained, I stepped out of the tree line and moved toward the front of the van.
The driver was dead, a masked man was returning fire from the opposite side of the van and another took off toward the house, skirting behind Talerco.
I raised my gun at the man running for the house.
Marek came out of nowhere, his hand slamming down on my piece. “Take care of the remaining shooter.” He strode toward the house.
Enraged, I cursed and redirected my aim.
“Leave him alive so we can question him,” Luna clipped, moving to my right, his gun trained on the closed back doors of the van.
Fuck. I fired off a single shot.
The asshole dropped, grabbing his thigh.
I didn’t spare him a second glance. I sprinted toward the house just as Talerco saw Marek.
Talerco stood up from behind his car door and grinned. “Damn, Ink, ’bout time you showed up.”
I ran past the van toward the front steps of the house and the still-open door. “One made it inside!”
“Motherfucker,” Talerco swore as Ty came around the last bend in the driveway, gunning the Escalade.
I hit the porch steps and flew into the house as the rear doors of the van burst open and gangbangers spilled out.
Gunfire sprayed across the front of the house.
“Ambush!” Luna yelled.
THE STENCH OF ACRID, PANIC-LACED sweat filled my nostrils.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.” Choking me with his arm around my throat, he jammed his gun into my ribs. “Shut the fuck up right now, or I’ll pump you full of holes and make you shut the fuck up.”
“Try it and you’re dead,” Sawyer’s lethally calm voice penetrated the darkened house.
A sob stuck in my throat.
My captor jerked us back a foot. “Who the fuck is that?”
A cacophony of gunfire erupted from out front, splitting the artificial silence of fear a split second before someone outside yelled, “Ambush!”
Fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, and I tried to drop to the ground.
The captor’s arm around my neck tightened to suffocating strength as my knees hit the ground.
“What the fuck, bitch?” He yanked me back up.
“Marek,” Sawyer snapped. “In position?”
“Copy,” a deep voice sounded from behind us.
The captor jerked us away from the last voice as the front door was kicked shut and the room exploded with light.
Blinking away the brightness and tears, my eyes focused, and when they did, my heart jammed itself into my throat.
Sawyer.
Oh my God, Sawyer.
His rifle aimed, his feet apart, his eyes were glued just over my shoulder on the man holding me in a headlock.
He tipped his chin at me but spoke to my captor. “Let her go or you die.”
“You shoot me, either of you shoot me, she dies,” my captor spit, grinding his gun into my ribs.
I started to shake.
Gunshots rained down outside, plinking against the house.
Every second of the last time I had a gun pulled on me came back, and I couldn’t breathe.
“All of you are dead,” my captor spewed. “You hear me? Dead.”
Sawyer didn’t respond. His aim moved from my captor’s shoulder to his head.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Not in the house,” the deep voice behind me warned Sawyer. “Outside.”
My knees started to shake.
“Yeah,” my captor taunted. “Let’s take this outside. See how you pendejos like that.”
Shouting in Spanish erupted from outside.
Ears ringing. Arms heavy.
My captor forced a laugh. “See? Told you. Muerte, pendejo. Muerte.”
No air, heart pounding, shaking—everything shaking.
Don’t fall.
Don’t fall.
My head swam, and my knees buckled.
“Fucking bitch!” He yanked me upright.
The pressure on my neck increased, and my vision tunneled.
“Let go of her neck,” Sawyer growled.
Don’t stumble.
“Outside,” the deep voice snapped.
Staples, staples, staples. Do not stumble. Do not stumble.
“You choke her out, you’re dead,” Sawyer roared.
Do not stumble.
The pressure on my neck eased a fraction.
“Three o’clock, two paces,” the voice behind me clipped.
Burning, wheezing, one breath, not enough.
Sawyer reached out, slow motion, and opened the front door. He stepped to his right.
Need more air.
“That’s it,” my captor sneered. “Move the fuck outta my way if you want her to live.”
Need more air.
Sawyer took another step to his right. A step away from the front door.
Oh God.
My captor moved.
Dragging me, pressing the gun into my side, he covered half the living room.
Fire, burning, breaths in short spurts. Oh God.
Tears welled.
Oh God.
“Genevieve,” Sawyer snapped from somewhere far away. “Eyes on me!”
I couldn’t hear.
I couldn’t breathe.
Gunfire played in my head and outside.
Gunfire everywhere.
Shots, so many shots, the sound of death.
Oh.
My.
God.
We were moving right for the door.
I was dead.
I didn’t have a chance outside.
No chance.
Too many bullets.
No chance.
Muffled, distant terror-driven screaming filled my ears.
Thoughts spun.
Head spun.
Staples don’t matter if you’re dead.
Filthy dirt-sweat taste on my tongue.
Bullets were going to rip through my flesh.
Sawyer was going to die.
Talon was going to die.
The man behind me was going to die.
I was going to die.
“Stop fucking screaming, bitch!” Cold metal pressed into my temple.
Sawyer roared.
“Get him outside,” the other man ordered.
“I’m fucking going and taking her with me!”
I was yanked over the threshold, and my world spun to a stop.
Bodies.
Red, blood, flesh, face-up, facedown, eyes open, eyes closed, dead.
Dead, dead, dead.
One, two… five.
Bodies lying everywhere.
Except for three men standing.
Talon.
André.
Ty.
All pointing guns at us.
The world went dead quiet.
Except for one last word.
“Motherfucker,” my captor whispered.
Wind rushed past my face a split second before his head exploded and a blood bath washed over me like hell on earth.
His body dropped, thumping halfway down the steps.
I fell to my knees as a keening filled the night’s silence.
MAREK PULLED THE TRIGGER.
The asshole’s head exploded, covering Genevieve in his blood before his body thudded down the steps fac
e-first.
“He could have shot her,” I snarled, pissed beyond words.
A sound, part scream, part cry, and all terror crawled up her throat and let loose.
“Wouldn’t have happened,” Marek stated, like he knew exactly how it was going to go down before he’d pulled the trigger. “Clean her up.” He pushed past me. “Shower out back.”
Using the strap on my rifle, I swung it to my back and reached for her.
“Hot damn.” Talerco shook his head. “Nice shot, Ink.”
“Dios Mio,” Luna muttered.
Ty kicked one of the gangbangers lying near the van. “Got one still alive.”
I lifted Genevieve to her feet, only to have her knees buckle.
Marek grabbed the dead carjacker by the back of his shirt and single-handedly dragged him toward the van. There was a brace on his wrist and the side of his head that wasn’t blown away sported a bruise where I’d kicked him—it was the same guy Genevieve had pulled the mask off.
Pushing my hands away, Genevieve cried harder.
Talerco glanced at the mess on the steps. “Ink, where ya keep the bleach?”
Ignoring her attempts to block me, I scooped her up.
“Garage,” Marek clipped, tossing the body into the van.
Covered in blood splatter himself, Luna came up the steps. “I’ll find you some clothes. Shower’s by the south end of the pool.” He nodded toward the side of the house, then walked inside.
I carried a keening, shaking woman in shock down the steps and around the side of the bullet-ridden house.
I hated myself.
I hated every one of her tears. And I hated the goddamn blood staining her innocence. I didn’t have words of comfort. I was angrier than the day my mother shed tears for her cheating husband. Except that wasn’t my fault. This was. Everything that’d happened to Genevieve since she’d walked in that diner was my fault.
I carried her past the pool and to an enclosed outdoor shower. Turning the water on to full heat, I set her on her feet, only to have her slip toward the ground. Already covered in the same blood that was all over her, I wrapped an arm around her and held her to my chest. Sliding my rifle off my shoulder, I leaned it against the fencing enclosing the shower and unholstered my other guns, tossing them on an adjacent bench.
Her voice hoarse, her cries growing quieter, she leaned into me like she had nothing left.
“Come on,” I muttered, stepping her toward the spray. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
No reply, no response, as if she didn’t hear me, she continued to shake and mew like a wounded animal.
I stepped us under the spray.
Water cascaded over her face, and she sputtered out a cough.
I swept my hand over her face, pushing her hair back. “Come on, baby. Let’s wash this off.” I adjusted the water temperature.
She sucked in a breath and looked at me for the first time since I’d walked into Marek’s living room. “It-it’s not this.”
“I know.” I ran my hand over her bloody hair for the second time since I’d known her. “You’re okay, though.”
“No.” She shook her head as a fresh wave of tears welled in her eyes. “No no no no—”
I grasped her face. “You’re safe now. You hear me? Safe,” I enunciated.
A new sob broke free.
I pulled her into my arms.
“Yo, Playboy,” Talerco called from outside the enclosure. “I got clothes for her from her suitcase, a shirt for you, and some towels and soap from Luna.”
“Set them on the bench.” I wasn’t letting go of her right now.
“Y’all decent?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I held her to me, wishing like hell she hadn’t seen what she saw. In the same breath, I wasn’t sorry a single one of those fucks were dead.
Talerco stepped in and set the shit on the bench behind us. Wearing a clean shirt, he eyed Genevieve. “How’s she doin’?”
I pulled her away from my chest just enough to tip her chin. I was an asshole for not checking to make sure she wasn’t physically injured beyond being choked. “Did he hurt you?”
Her gaze distant, she didn’t say anything.
“Hey, darlin’, how ya doin’?” Talerco asked. “We just wanna make sure you’re not injured.”
Leaning against me, her arms still at her sides, she blinked, then inhaled. Pulling her chin out of my grasp, her gaze cut to Talerco. “I’m fine,” she rasped.
Talon smiled as he winked at her. “You’re tough as nails, darlin’, you know that?” His expression sobered. “But if anythin’ changes, you tell me or Playboy, okay?”
She nodded, then dropped her gaze, settling her head against my chest.
Talerco glanced at me. “Garbage bag’s there for your clothes.”
“Copy.” I ran my hand over her hair again.
He looked back at Genevieve. “Darlin’, let me know when you’re ready to get those staples out.”
I answered for her. “After I get her cleaned up.”
Talerco nodded. “Back door’s open. I’ll be inside.” He retreated.
She looked at her shirt, then back up at me. Her voice came out small and rough. “My clothes are ruined.”
“I know.” But not for the reason she thought. The blood would wash off. Trace evidence wouldn’t.
“Did….” She swallowed. “Did you shoot him?”
“No.”
Her shoulders dropped as if she were relieved.
She had to know the truth of who I was. “I didn’t shoot him only because someone else beat me to it.” I grasped the hem of her pink shirt. “Arms up.” She did as I said, and I pulled her shirt over her head.
In an olive-green bra that matched her eyes, her full breasts and hardened nipples stretching the lace material, she looked so damn vulnerable as her arms fell to her sides. “Then who killed him?”
Covered in blood and shed tears, she was still stunning. “I’m not going to tell you that.” Every curve of her body played on my conscience.
“Why?”
“It’s over now. You can get on with your life.” I slid my hands over her hips as my fingers sank into the waistband of her pants.
“But the police—”
“The police will never know about this.” Dropping to one knee, I dragged her leggings down her thighs. Fuck my life, she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “Hands on my shoulders,” I ordered, my voice hoarser than it should’ve been.
Still trembling, but not outright shaking, she did exactly as I told her.
My honor gone to shit, my cock grew hard as fuck. I pushed her pants to her ankles, shamelessly taking in the sight of her. “Lift.” Ivory smooth legs, full hips, a small patch of lighter red curls between her legs, I wanted to sink inside her and make her forget, if even for a moment.
She lifted one foot.
I slid one of her flats off, then the other before pulling her pants all the way off. Blood-soaked water cascaded down her legs and washed over her bright yellow toenail polish. Guilt hit me all over again as I stood.
Stripping out of my shirt, I grabbed the bottle of shower gel and squirted some into my hand as she stared down at her chest.
“There’s blood on my bra,” she whispered.
Jesus. I couldn’t take her bra off. If I fucking did, I’d touch her. “I know, baby.” I lathered the soap into her hair.
She looked up at me, and her voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “You called me baby twice.”
“I did.” I had a hundred names I wanted to call her, but none of them made her mine. I rinsed her hair.
“Please,” she barely breathed, leaning into me harder. “Take it off.”
Fuck. “Turn around,” I ordered.
Without hesitation, she turned.
I undid her bra and pushed it off her shoulders. “Rinse,” I clipped.
The bra fell to the ground, and she stepped under the spray completely naked.
My eyes on her, I grabbed the
soap and washed my arms and chest. Dragging my gaze over her perfect ass and the soft swell of her hips, I stepped behind her and angled the showerhead to rinse myself off.
Standing in the protection of my body, her head down, her back to me, she reached back and her hands landed on the outsides of my thighs.
Then she pressed her ass into me.
I’d seen death. I’d felt what she was feeling right now. I knew what she wanted.
I wanted it more.
So goddamn much more.
But she didn’t know what she was asking.
Rinsing my face, then angling the spray to our right, I reached to turn off the water.
Her hand covered mine. “Wait.”
HIS IMPOSSIBLY HARD, WARM BODY cocooning me, I sucked in a breath full of anxiety, fear, and unspeakably disgraceful relief. But I needed more. I need more of what I felt pressing into my lower back.
My hand landed on his, and I pleaded. “Wait.”
Every muscle in his body stiffened. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
I knew exactly what I was asking.
I wanted to feel the very breath going in and out of my lungs. I wanted my soul not to weep. I wanted my eyes not to see. I wanted my body to feel the very essence of what life should be about. I wanted to feel warmth, deep in my veins, and I wanted to feel him.
I wanted to feel him inside me.
Warm water running down my naked body, his breath on my shoulder, my hands trembling, I turned.
But I didn’t look at him.
Not at his eyes.
I couldn’t.
I ran my hands over the muscles he worked on every day. My fingers tracing the ridges and valleys of every defined inch of his abs, I touched him.
I touched him how I wanted him to touch me.
And for two whole heartbeats, he let me before he grasped my wrist in a punishing grip and yanked my hand off his body. “Genevieve.”
Expecting his stark blue gaze, I looked up.
Except there was nothing stark about the fierceness in his eyes.
My lips parted on a half gasp, half moan as awareness shot up my arm from his grip and traveled over every needy inch of my heated flesh.
My wet hair soaking my back, water running down my chest and over my achingly hard nipples, my feet standing in a puddle of another man’s death, my mouth suddenly went dry.
I licked my lips.
His nostrils flared. “Ask.”
“Please,” I begged.