He moved fast. Efficient. A jab made me wince. A hook sent another man flying over a table.
Butfourmen kept advancing ononeBig Country.
“Ugh, why didn’t I bring my pepper spray? Why did I sneak an HC&PP pen into my purse and not my taser, grrrr!” I did love this pen, though. The brand was?—
Does it matter, Zuri?
I bolted to the steel table, yanked open a drawer, and shoved past a meat tenderizer.Literally no one uses those. I grabbed the biggest kitchen knife the Babineauxs owned. Practically a machete. My hands quivered. I almost dropped it. Almost cut myself while trying to open the swinging door. Note to an Awkward Black Chick, a.k.a. myself: use one hand. Preferably not the weaponized hand.
Montana was holding his own. Ducking a punch. Weaving in and out.
“Hey!” I screamed, charging forward with the don’t-try-me face Taraji P. Henson incorporated into her movies. Oscar worthy.
Crap. I should’ve kicked off my heels in the kitchen. If I tripped, I’d need to give myself twenty-five stitches. I snarled, “Back up. Back the hell up!”
Before I could process it, Montana jumped back, dodging my knife.Ugh. This was for his protection.
He grabbed my wrist. Took the knife.
One man advanced. Montana thrust the knife upward. He meant business—and I mean CEO in a boardroom to my mom-and-pop show.
The guy jumped back, tripping over a fallen velvet chair.
Sniggering, they took off.
Montana’s massive chest expanded with an explosive exhale. “Welcome to the hood, Journey …” He shook his head and muttered about having aGlockin the car.
I stared at him. Pushed his chest. Good thing he gripped that machete expertly.
“Journey, hell was that for?”
“This isn’t funny.” This was … this was …
I grabbed the knife as two years ago flashed before my eyes. Since New York, I’d blown off one location after another. Last time Darius and I moved? A couple of months ago. Hell, my college friend who created new licenses had offered a punch-loyalty card. Get every tenth alias for free.
These past couple of moves? I was spooked.
Each time someone glanced at me funny, our lives in New York swung hard, full force, slapping me right in the face. Instincts had awakened when a man reached into Darius’s crib …
Warm fingertips bit through the icy dread of the moment. These hands were firm, yet kind. Rough. Callused. Soothing.
Montana took my wrists. The padding of his thumb caused my body to go limp. The knife hit the herringbone wood with a clatter. I fell into his arms.
Weak as I was, I’d never felt so strong. Those arms.
“Shhhh …” His hand dragged over my bare spine.But why’d he shush me?
Oh. His lips touched my cheek, then my mouth. I opened up. Tasted what he had—tears.
“My bad, Journey.”
“No,” I croaked. Because he’d done everything rightbutcall me by my name.
“I’m so sorry,bébé. They werezenfan—children …teens. I knew when they came inside. They didn’t have guns. Opportunistic? Yep. Dumb as hell. I wanted to teach these young’uns a lesson. I wouldn’t have …”
I couldn’t decipher his words.
“Darius …” My voice scraped raw with emotion.
