“You know the rules, Blake,” I growl. He glares at me while his friend just looks nervous, and I know I have them, and this is perfect because it’s the exact out I need to get her away from them and out the door.
I take a step toward them, extending my hand. “Let her go.”
Shawn immediately removes his arm from her person, shifting over on the sofa so he’s no longer even touching her. Blake, on the other hand, tightens his hold on her. “No. I’m not gonna fuckin’ do that.”
“Either you do as you're told or you suffer the consequences,” I reply patiently. It’s not like we don’t have these rules put into place for a reason. It’s almost like reading someone their rights before they’re arrested, you gotta give them the no-rules spiel of the backroom before allowing them to enter. Either they agree or they don’t. If they don’t agree, they don’t enter. It’s really that simple.
I take another step toward them, opening my mouth to tell him exactly how it’s gonna be, when an electric shiver runs down my spine, immediately followed by a ruckus at the doorway that draws all of our attention behind me.
I’ve just turned to look as the man at the door yells, “You can’t go in there.”
“If you think you’re gonna stop me, you’re gonna lose your balls,” a rather pissed-off female voice responds, eliciting another random shiver that has me frowning for a whole new reason.
I can’t see the door through the men standing in the way, but then the next thing I know, the man at the door yelps, and then the men are parting as if the devil himself has demanded entrance.
Briefly stunned, I watch her come into the room bearing no mind to the burly man she’d knocked on his ass nor any of the larger men who are now surrounding her.
Her hair is on the short side yet still wild, an unusual ashen hue somewhere between blonde and brown. She’s tall, though not nearly as tall as I am, and while she’s not overly large, she’s obviously strong.
And she is spitting freaking mad.
I barely manage to repress my smile because it isn’t too often we see that type. It’s also highly inconvenient, given the fact that I was well on my way to extricating the woman from the sofa and this most likely is going to complicate matters.
Sure enough, she glances around the room, quickly spotting the woman stuck between Shawn and Blake. She points at her and spits out, “Let's go.”
The woman’s eyes widen, and she immediately attempts to get to her feet, but Blake’s arm around her shoulder tightens, his hand moving to her throat to keep her in place. I look between this new arrival and Blake, part of me considering having the two of them duke it out because I’m pretty sure she could kick his ass.
But then Blake says, “No, she’s with me.”
“Oh, yeah?” she asks slowly. “Is that so?”
I’ve only ever heard that question a few times before, and the context in which it has been used has always been a giant waving red flag. I give Blake a pointed look, hoping he’ll take it for what it’s worth and release the woman before things get out of hand, but knowing the likelihood of that is basically nil.
Blake nods and leans in closer to the woman, pressing his lips against her cheek while still keeping his eyes on the woman across the room.
For some strange reason, I’m suddenly reminded of Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, and without thinking, I sidle closer to her, that earlier shiver boomeranging into heat in my gut. She gives me a dirty look, taking a small step away from me as she turns back to Blake and says, “One way or another, she’s leaving with me.”
Shawn looks over at Blake and says, “I dunno, man. She’s the one who came in here, so maybe she wanted to join the party.”
Blake laughs and nods. “Fuckin’ right. I bet she wanted a piece of this just like her friend.”
Her glare intensifies, and she asks, “Are you trying to say you’re not gonna let her come without a fight?”
“That’s exactly what I’m fuckin’ saying,” Blake retorts.
She eyes him steadily for a few moments and then nods, whirling toward me and closing the distance between us in one quick leap.
It’s been a long time since anyone’s got the jump on me, so when I hear the familiar slide of metal and leather, it takes me a good two seconds to realize she’s pulled my weapon from my holster.
There’s an audible gasp from the men in the room, footfalls stomping toward the door as they most likely go in search of help, which is completely ridiculous, given that this woman is already entirely outnumbered.
But that doesn’t mean she can’t put a hole through my head in the meantime.
I stare down the barrel of my own gun and then laugh because it really is freaking hilarious.
After all the trials and tribulations of my life, the idea that I’m going to meet my maker at the hand of my own gun by a woman desperate to save a woman I was already saving is just perfect.
She holds the gun with purpose, using both hands, her arms extended, and she stares me dead in the eyes as she says, “Let her go or he’s a fucking dead man.”
