“I guess that means she’s not, since you’re getting all sensitive and shit,” Powell mocked. “You ever think that maybe it’s because you’re a cripple? I bet she’d warm up a little more with a real man. What do you think about me banging your kitty?”
Jayson drove his knee into Powell’s gut, but only because he couldn’t reach his balls. It didn’t do much good. Finally, he had to give up his hold on the pistol or let Powell break his wrist. The weapon fell between them and Powell immediately lunged for it.
That was the mistake Jayson had been waiting for. He ignored the weapon and jumped on top of Powell just as the man rolled over, straddling his stomach and getting one hand locked in the man’s hair, jerking his head back. Powell struggled, flailing his fists in an effort to hit him, but Jayson was too close for him to land any real punches. Gaze locked with Powell’s, Jayson slipped his free hand down and got it under the man’s chin.
Powell’s eyes widened in fear. He brought one of his knees up sharply, trying to ram it into Jayson’s back. The position was all wrong, and Powell couldn’t get a clean shot at him. But even getting a knee slammed into his hip was enough to send immediate and intense pain flooding through him. A wave of darkness threatened to envelope him. But Jayson had become so familiar with pain and the shadow of unconsciousness that followed it like an old friend that he was able to fight it down, push it back, and hold it at bay like he had for most of the past year.
He leaned forward until his mouth was only an inch from Powell’s ear. “Fuck you,” he whispered, then yanked with one hand and shoved with the other, snapping the other man’s neck.
The wave of darkness he’d been holding off started to crest over his head then, and he realized he probably wasn’t going to be able to breathe through the pain this time. Powell had damaged something with those jabs to the back. The ache was continuing to grow, not ebb as it usually did.
A single shot sounded from just outside the french doors a few feet away from him. There had been plenty of shooting going on out there but this single shot was more resounding, more menacing than all the previous automatic weapons fire combined.
Layla.
Jayson grunted, shoving the pain and darkness away. Grabbing the pistol he’d dropped earlier, he ran out the doors toward the pool area just as a second shot echoed in the night, followed by a third. He was halfway there when he caught sight of a scene that froze his heart in his chest and knocked the air from his lungs.
Layla was locked in a hand-to-hand struggle with Zolnerov, much like he’d been with Powell, except the Russian colonel was the one holding a weapon, and Layla was the one fighting to keep the barrel from pointing her way.
She was fast, way faster than Jayson could ever hope to be. She drove a straight punch into the man’s chest, knocking him back a step or two but at the same time giving him the space he needed to get his weapon up and pointed at her.
Shit. Zolnerov was going to take the shot.
Jayson lifted his weapon and aimed for the man trying to kill the love of his life, but even as he started to pull the trigger, he knew Layla was too close to the target. One wrong move on her part and his bullet would go through her instead of Zolnerov.
“Get down!” he shouted, praying Layla would hear him.
But Layla didn’t take cover like he hoped. Instead, she launched herself through the air as the Russian fired multiple rounds at her. She was so close that there was absolutely no way Zolnerov could miss her, but then she twisted in the air like the big cat she shared her DNA with and, however impossible it seemed, she didn’t get hit.
Jayson’s heart was in his throat as she landed in front of Zolnerov and dropped into a crouch. She lashed out with her hand at the same time Jayson pulled the trigger of his 9mm, her claws slashing Zolnerov across the inner thigh even as the bullet pierced his chest. The Russian stared in shock, his weapon slipping from his nerveless fingers.
Jayson was sprinting toward Layla before Zolnerov hit the ground. Although his back hurt like a son of a bitch, he covered the distance between them faster than he ever thought he could.. Then Layla was in his arms, and he was kissing her even while trying to check her for injuries at the same time. He still couldn’t believe Zolnerov hadn’t hit her, but he was grateful as hell. She was just as interested in checking him out too, fussing over all the cuts and scrapes he’d gotten in the fight with Powell. As a result, the kiss ended up being something a little less than romantic, but Jayson wouldn’t have traded it for the world.
“You really think it’s the best time to be doing that?” a gruff voice said from behind them.
Jayson reluctantly broke the kiss to see Clayne standing there with an impatient look on his face. The wolf shifter’s shirt was shredded to ribbons, and his chest, abs, arms, and shoulders were scratched up all to hell. It looked like he’d wrestled with a cheese grater.
“Damn, Clayne, I hope the other guy looks worse,” he muttered.
Clayne chuckled. “Oh, hell yeah. When Kojot and I ran out of ammo, he thought he could take me down hand to hand. Last mistake that stupid fucker ever made.”
Layla just shook her head, then hurried over to check on Mikhail. The dark-haired girl with him was already tearing strips off the bottom of Mikhail’s T-shirt so she could bind his wounds. Both kids regarded Layla with eyes as round as saucers. Jayson couldn’t blame them. He’d been like that the first time he’d seen Layla shift in front of him, too. And Layla hadn’t just shifted—she’d gone completely ThunderCat in front of them. Jayson only hoped they could trust Mikhail and the girl to keep what they’d seen to themselves.
He turned back to Clayne to find him standing there grinning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the wolf shifter had arranged events so the fight with Kojot would come down to hand-to-hand combat. He couldn’t imagine Danica had been too thrilled with that.
Jayson frowned. WherewasDanica? He liked to think Clayne wouldn’t be standing there with a satisfied smile on his face if his fiancée was in danger, but maybe he should check anyway.
“Is Danica okay?” he asked Clayne.
The wolf shifter nodded. “She’s fine. We intercepted Dylan and the rest of the kids as we were finishing up with Kojot. She got them off the estate while I came to help you and Layla. Not that you needed it.” Clayne frowned as he looked at Mikhail. “Except for him. How the hell did he end up shot?”
Jayson was about to say he didn’t have a clue, but the wolf shifter cut him off.
“You can fill me in later.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to get the hell out of here.”
“What’s the rush?” Jayson asked. The shooting had all stopped, so that meant everything was over. “If any of Zolnerov’s men survived, they’re long gone.”
“I’m not worried about Zolnerov’s men.” Clayne walked over to Mikhail and bent to pick him up. The Russian teen tried to act like he didn’t need the help, but the wolf shifter ignored him and headed toward the french doors, giving Jayson, Layla, and the young Russian girl no choice but to follow. “It’s the explosives I’m more concerned with. I rigged Zolnerov’s entire munitions storage area to blow.”
