Great. More time crammed into the VW beside Rusty was just what Ace needed. Not.
“Getting comfortable is impossible in this sardine can,” Rusty complained, rummaging around in the backpack on the floorboard by his big, booted feet. When he sat back, he blew out a dejected breath. “Crap in my lap. I forgot to pack energy bars. Anybody have any grub on them? I’m starving.”
“Ozzie,” Ace said over his shoulder. “Hand me my backpack. I think Becky stuffed some Dum Dum lollipops in there before I left.”
Rusty sent him a sidelong look. “A sucker? Sorry, my man, that ain’t gonna cut it.”
Ace smiled. My man. Oh, if only that were true. If only Rusty would see that a life lived in the dark was no life at all. If only Rusty would admit to himself—and, more importantly, to his parents—who he truly was, then maybe Ace actually could be his man.
“Shit,” Ozzie hissed from the back seat. “Did you guys hear that?”
“What?” A chill raced over Ace’s skin. Since the air inside the Bug was warm from the body heat of three grown men, he knew it had nothing to do with the temperature. “What did you hear?”
Ozzie’s face, even in the darkness of the vehicle, was limned in alarm. “It sounded like a twig under a boot and—”
“Fuck!” Rusty yelled at the exact moment Ace’s driver’s side windshield exploded.
Ace barely had time to register the shatterproof glass that landed in his lap in a cobwebbed sheet before the cold barrel of a rifle touched his temple and he knew his day had gone from bad to much worse.
Chapter 25
Rusty wasn’t sure he’d ever truly known fear until that moment.
As a marine, he’d been pinned down in enemy territory too many times to count. More than once, he’d felt the displaced air of a bullet that, had it been one inch to the right or left, would have left him six feet under and pushing up daisies. But nothing compared to seeing the rifle barrel kiss Ace’s head and not knowing if the next second the brains of the man he loved, the only man he’d ever loved, would be splashing into his lap.
Yes. He loved Ace. Hell of a time to admit it to himself.
Before he made the conscious decision to move, his hand was on the butt of the Kimber Custom semiautomatic he’d shoved into his waistband before they exited the car to recon the farmhouse.
“Don’t,” Ace hissed beneath his breath. “Not yet. Play it cool.”
The guy wielding the rifle yelled something in Russian and punched the barrel of his weapon into Ace’s head hard enough to make Ace grunt. The pain contorting Ace’s handsome face had Rusty’s jaw clenching until he worried for the integrity of his teeth.
“I think he wants us to get out of the car,” Ozzie said from the back seat, his hands lifted shoulder high. “And, uh, in case neither of you have noticed, we’ve got more company on our six.”
Rusty flicked a glance into the rearview mirror. Sure enough. The moonlight shone down on Popov and one of his pals. They stood at the rear of the VW, rifles aimed through the back windshield.
The three douchewagons had somehow spotted them. But that was less head-scratching than knowing the trio had then managed to get the drop on them. Rusty wanted to chalk it up to the guys being locals and more familiar with the terrain, but he couldn’t discount the possibility he’d been so distracted by having Ace a mere six inches away that he wasn’t on top of his game. That he’d missed something back at the farmhouse or on their walk back to the Bug.
“Even-stevens. Three against three,” he muttered, his voice barely audible inside the car and definitely not audible outside of it. The river giggled and laughed ten yards away. It drowned out all other sounds. “Ace, you still carrying?”
“Yep. Back waistband.”
“Ozzie?” Rusty whispered.
“Nope. It’s in my gear bag. And I don’t think these assholes will take kindly to me going on a fishing expedition.”
The man aiming for Ace’s head yelled something again. He punctuated his command by jabbing Ace in the temple one more time. It took everything Rusty had not to grab the barrel of that rifle and drag the asshole forward until his head poked through the broken window. It would only take a split second to shove his nine mil under the dickswab’s chin and blow the top of his head off.
If he’d been assured success, and if he’d known if Ozzie would be able to unpack his pistol and get the drop on Popov and his partner before they were able to open fire and fill the VW was rifle rounds, he might have done just that.
“Time’s up,” Ozzie murmured. “How do you guys want to play this?”
“Get out of the car.” Ace reached for his own door handle from beneath the sheet of shattered glass. “From the tone of this guy’s voice, it’ll be our coffin if we don’t.”
Adrenaline left a sour taste on Rusty’s tongue as he calmly and deliberately opened the passenger-side door. Before he stepped outside, he zipped the bottom of his jacket, concealing the handgun in the waistband of his jeans.
