Diego followed his instructions, plunging the entire area into darkness. Just as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, my door opened.
“Come.” Remo held out a hand, his expression warning me not to argue. I slipped mine into his and as I jumped out he said to Diego, “go. Get Lorenzo to safety.”
Watching the truck roll away, my legs almost gave out with the need to stop them, wanting them not to leave me behind. Before I could reorientate myself, Remo’s arm slipped around my waist, hauling me toward the shadows that offered cover.
“I should’ve gone with them, Lorenzo needs me.”
Remo guided me down behind a stack of wooden crates, his body shielding mine as he scanned the area. “Even wounded Lorenzo can handle himself if he is alone and so can Diego, you’d be a distraction that could get them killed.”
I nodded, understanding it would be easier for him to protect me.
Then he looked at me, and I could’ve sworn he was regretting his decision. “Stay down, okay?” the gentleness in his tone said otherwise. “I need to get us another vehicle.”
“What about the rest of your men?”
His eyes flared slightly. “They know what to do to survive.” Then he was gone.
Barely a second passed and the first gunshot pierced the night, and my heart jumped into my throat, wondering if Remo was the target. Giving no thought to my action, I stood.
Before I could even process what was happening, the night exploded in a cacophony of gunfire, incoherent shouts and the sharp stink of blood. Bullets sailed past my head, loud and threatening. I ducked behind the crates, heart hammering so hard my ribs ached. Wincing, I peeked around the edge of the stack, my eyes searching until I found Remo.
Both his hands working the barrels of two large guns, he moved like a tornado, fast and destructive. Even this close to death, every pull on the trigger was precise, smooth, controlled.
It went on for God knew how long. My body shook, my ears hurt, my pulse jackrabbited and all I could do was pray we made out alive.
A bullet whistled above my head, slicing sparks of metal inches from my ear. Someone screamed. Something detonated near me and heat slammed into my face, pilfering my need to breathe.
“Remo!” I shouted, rising, my feet stumbling to gain control. He turned, those beautiful cold eyes cutting through the chaos, searching. “Remo!” I called again, louder this time. His head snapped toward me, his gaze locking with mine. And that’s when I saw it, the flick of a rival gun raised and pointed straight at me.
But Remo was faster. In one brutal moment he threw himself in front of me, tackling me in a downward descent. Concrete hit my back hard, his weight crushing mine, shoving the air out ofmy lungs, the screaming bullet forgotten. For just one heartbeat, everything stopped and all I felt was him.
His warm body pressed against mine, racing heartbeat in sync with mine, breath hot across my cheek, fingers trembling where it cupped the back of my skull, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“Are you okay?” he whispered in my ear, his voice a strange cadence I never heard before. Then our eyes met and the look in them stole my words.
Fear. Not for himself but for me.
Skin already streaked with blood, some his, most not, his forehead pressed to mine, only for a second yet long enough for me to feel the tremor in him, just long enough for something inside me to crack open. Something I never imagined feeling for a man like him.
Love.
The recognition speared through me. Confusing. Scary. Consuming.
Chaos shattered the moment and he jumped up, pulling me with him in one fluid yank. “Stay close,” he growled, voice low, lethal, disturbingly calm for the storm surrounding us. “Move.”
We ran. His fingers bruising around my wrist, he never let go of my hand, not once, not even when more men appeared or when bullets rained in from all angles. His free hand worked the barrel of his gun faster than an action game, taking down the enemy with ease. One man charged us with a large knife and Remo dropped him with a shot so close, I felt the vibration in my bones.
I didn’t know where all these men came from, but I noticed there seemed to be a lot of them on Remo’s side too when they directed him toward safety. He dragged me through raging fires and darkened shadows until we reached a black truck parked behind a container. Wordlessly, he shoved me inside, slammedthe door and jumped into the driver’s seat, opening the window as soon as the engine purred to life. One hand on the wheel, he tore out of the area while the other hand pumped bullets relentlessly until the madness faded behind us.
Despite the seatbelt I scrambled to clip in, my body wouldn’t stop shaking, my breathing a ragged rasp in my ears.
Remo glanced at me. Then shoving the gun between his thighs, he closed the window and swapped hands on the wheel, the other landing on my thigh, his grip tight, possessive. “Are you hurt?” he asked, voice rougher than gravel.
“No,” I whispered, my emotions still in a turmoil, not from fear but the knowledge I was in love with this dangerous man.
“Good.”
We didn’t speak after that, the silence was oppressive, almost like something unsaid seared the space between us. Well, that was how I felt at the very least. I stared at the frowning man beside me, wanting to tell him what I felt. His clenched jaw, however, suggested he was fighting his own battles, and I decided not to say anything. Licking my dry lips, I pulled in deep breaths and closed my eyes.
