Shit.
Pain explodes, then radiates out.
My breath whooshes out in a gasp.
“YARA!” Ace bellows.
“I’m okay,” I wheeze, but I’m not sure if he can hear me. The bullet hit my vest, which means it hurts like anything, maybe even bruised a few ribs, but I’ll be okay.
Well, assuming this asshole tango doesn’t shoot me in the head. Then?—
“GET DOWN!” Ace hollers. A moment later, he crashes into me, shoving me to the floor.
“Ace!” I yell. “What are you?—”
As I’m scrambling to my feet, fire spits past me. Once. Twice. Three times.
On the third, Ace makes a startled sound. It’s half grunt, half groan.
I spin around to find him standing in the doorway with a hole in his arm.
A hole.
Everything stops.
My heart.
My lungs.
Everything around me.
Ace is hit.
All I can think is,Ace is hit.
He’shit.
He has a hole in hisarm.
Fear beyond anything I’ve felt before—and that’s saying a lot—takes over.
Scattered, panicked thoughts bounce in my head. Ace was shot.Shot. He’s bleeding.Bleeding!What if it hit an artery? What if he dies? What if Ace dies because he was trying to protect me?
But I refuse to let the panic take over. It can’t.
Operating on sheer instinct, I leap to my feet. With a roar of anger, I race at the tango.
No. The enemy who shot the man I’m in love with.
In Farsi, I shout, “You’ll regret this!”
Shock moves across the gunman’s face. He wasn’t expecting this. He thought he had the upper hand. But he doesn’t. Not now. And never again.
I fire at him, but only twice. Once to hit him in the arm, and the other his opposite shoulder. He screams, and his semi-automatic rifle drops uselessly to the ground.
From behind me, Rafe and Grover come rushing in. Belatedly, I realize only a few seconds must have passed, or they would have been here already.
I watch as Rafe races over to the bleeding tango and quickly restrains him. Then I turn to Ace, who’s leaning heavily against the wall with his hand clapped over his bleeding arm.
