“Now kick it to me and back the fuck up.” Again, I obey, keeping my eyes on Natasha the entire time.
“Sorry,”she mouths.“Love…”
Bastian tightens his grip on the knife, and she whimpers softly.
Sorry?The single word chills me to the bone. Whatever she’s planning, I can’t let her do it.
I take a single step back so I’m even with the corner. Another step, and the left side of my body is hidden from Bastian’s view.
“That’s far enough,” he growls.
“Natasha, we’re going home. Together. Back to Seattle. Or Blakely. Where everything felt…right.”
Please, God let her understand me. All we need—allIneed—is a few inches.
Raelynn presses her pistol into my hand. “Golf, you better be close,” she murmurs over comms.
“I don’t have a shot. His hand could jerk. Or the bullet goes through him and takes out Doc too.”
“Don’t do it,” I say, hoping Graham understands I’m talking to him as much as Bastian. “You’re mine, shitstain. The Colonel can’t protect you anymore. We know who he is.” I need an opening. Need him to waver for one second. Maybe two.
Bastian laughs. “He has more influence than you could ever dream of.”
“You’re a naive little prick, you know that? Your friends may have been powerful—and clearly they were since you managed to breakintoa prison, get Natasha out of her cell, and gather enough witnesses to make your plans for her death believable.But they’re dead now.Myfriends stopped this entire place from going on lockdown after that firefight. What does that tell you?”
Fear flashes in his dark eyes.
Natasha’s grip on his wrist goes slack. Her hand presses to her chest. Over the white tank top now stained with blood. “Can’t…breathe,” she whispers. “Please…”
He can’t see her face. But I can. She balls her hand into a fist. Metal glints in the fluorescent lights.
The knife wavers. The edge lifts from her skin.
She slams her fist into his thigh. Bastian screams. His tight hold loosens. Natasha twists free.
I shoot him square in the chest. He stumbles, but doesn’t go down. Fuck. I should have known he’d be wearing body armor.
He lunges for Natasha. She lands a punch to his crotch. His howl is music to my ears. He sinks to his knees, but grabs her wrist, twisting until she cries out in pain.
I take off at a run.
Bastian swings the knife up, barely missing Natasha’s face. She plants her foot in the center of his chest to push him away. He slashes wildly. The blade glances off her calf. The KA-BAR arcs toward her thigh.
My shot makes a neat hole in his forehead. He’s dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.
His hand goes slack. Natasha grabs the knife before it can fall, and drives it into his neck.
He can’t fight anymore. His final sound is nothing more than a weak gurgle.
“Natasha!” I catch her as her knees buckle and crush her against me. She wraps her arms around my neck, sobbing.
“I couldn’t…I tried to get away, but…”
“Shhh. You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you. Always.”
Graham jogs up to us, checks Bastian’s pulse, and wipes his bloody fingers on his pants. “We need to move. Tango andFoxtrot are going to deal with the cops, but Natasha’s technically an escaped prisoner until we can make her paperwork disappear.”
“Tango and…Foxtrot?” Natasha asks, her voice weak enough, I ease her back so I can make sure the asshole’s knife didn’t nick her carotid. She winces when I lift the hem of her orange prison shirt and dab at her neck. The wounds are superficial, but if he’d pressed any harder…
