If I stalled them for even a few seconds, it would give me a head start to run away. I was a pretty decent runner. I didn’t have my gun with me, since there hadn’t been a need for it since I moved to Ferguson, so instead I pulled my trusty Taser out of my bag and pressed it against the guy nearest me.
He hadn’t seen me when they came around the corner, clearly not expecting anyone to be crouching. He went down in a heap, and I jumped up.
The other guy wasn’t going to be as easy. He was evading my attempts to tase him, and if I didn’t get him soon, the first guy would get up again. He was already coming around. I made a note to myself to get a bigger Taser if I survived the night.
I got lucky when the guy who was still standing didn’t expect me to charge him. I figured I could take a few hits as long as I got him. He punched me in the stomach so hard I momentarily couldn’t breathe. But I could still lift my hand, and I did so without a second thought.
I reached his side with the front end, pressing extra hard and long. But the end result was the same, and he went down like a sack of potatoes.
Heavy footsteps came closer, and I cursed my luck. There were more than two, and I was in no condition to fight anyone else off. I held on to the wall, needing the support.
My breath came in short pants, making me sound like I smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. I looked in the direction of the footsteps and spotted the giant outline of a guy rushing closer.
Shit, I better get my ass moving.
Pushing off the wall, I ran out of the alley. I looked back before turning onto the street and saw the third guy help his friends back to their feet. They were unsteady but unfortunately able to walk.
They moved in my direction, and I turned and slammed headfirst into a body. I would have gone down again if the person hadn’t held on to my arms, steadying me.
I automatically lifted my Taser but didn’t get far. Next thing I knew, I was without a Taser and found myself pushed behind a big body. The goons were almost in front of us now.
“Turn around now and I’ll forget you ever pointed a gun at me,” said the man who was shielding me from the bad guys. He sounded an awful lot like someone I knew. But surely nobody was that unlucky. A failed kidnapping attempt and running into the one person I never wanted to see again all in one day?
“I don’t think so. And I’m the one with the gun, so it looks to me like I should be making the demands,” said the third Irish guy.
“There are currently two guns pointed at you,” the guy shielding me said, his tone conversational. “So I suggest you reconsider.”
Yup, I was definitely that unlucky. I knew that voice. I must have really pissed off Karma, because she had just come at me with a vengeance to make me pay for all the shit I’d put her through when I was young and full of self-righteous entitlement.
I peeked out from behind the familiar behemoth in front of me. The Irishmen seemed to be thinking about their situation but didn’t lower their guns.
A small red dot appeared on two of their chests, and the guy protecting me pointed at them. “Now leave before I change my mind on letting you go.”
The trio lowered their guns, their expressions promising retribution. They definitely didn’t like to lose. “You’ll regret getting involved. This was meant to be a simple pickup, but you just declared war,” one of them hissed.
“Since when does Cian dabble in kidnapping?”
The guy looked surprised before the anger returned to his expression. “He does when it comes to the Olysses brat.”
“Turn around and walk away. War was declared the moment you got the order to pick Freya up,” the guy ground out, his tone low and threatening.
“You’re as good as dead,” the Irish goon promised, then walked away.
My past slammed into me with a fist to the gut when my savior turned around.
“Gunner?” I wheezed, gasping for breath. “What are you doing here?”
He studied me, cataloging every inch of my body. But I didn’t have to be worried he was about to ravage me. Oh no, not always-in-control Gunner. He was analyzing me, making sure I wasn’t hurt. Guess I was a job for him once again.
As soon as the Irish were out of sight, two other guys dressed in black tactical gear appeared out of nowhere. One had a surfer vibe going on with his tousled blond hair and lean body. The other one had dark-olive skin, a shaved head, and was bigger than Gunner, something I didn’t think was possible.
I also knew them both. Carter and Blake.
“That’s it? I would have thought the Irish would put up more of a fight,” Carter—aka surfer guy—said, grinning at me, displaying an even row of blindingly white teeth. “Freya, good to see you again.”
Maybe if I pretended this wasn’t happening, they’d just disappear.
“I’m taking her to the safe house,” Gunner instructed once he tore his gaze away from me.
