It had fallen off. Didn’t matter. The only thing I cared about was catching him.
I slammed into the figure, both of us colliding into the dirt with bone-rattling force. The child let out a choked sob, her small limbs flailing.
“Ah fuck, you all right, kid?” The masked man actually sounded concerned.
Before I could make sense of it, Dorin stepped in and grabbed the kid.
His fingers inched toward his fallen gun, but I was faster. My dagger kissed his throat, my breath hot and rapid as I pinned him down, straddling him, and before I could even speak, he said, “I might be a piece of shit, but I’m not that much of a piece of shit.” The asshole sounded raspy and, annoyingly enough, not out of breath.
Saying shit like that so calmly, as if he knew what I was thinking.
All I could see were those striking ocean-blue eyes. He was bigger than I’d realized, broad through the chest and built like he could throw me off whenever he felt like it. The hard outline of a second gun rested at his hip. All I had was a dagger after dropping mine when I nearly went down earlier.
I snapped out of it when I heard my comrades screaming at me to run, the gunshots getting closer. This mystery man moved first, grabbing me. Suddenly, I was upright, yanked to my feetbefore I could protest. I couldn’t even be awestruck because we were, after all, running for our lives.
But, like, damn…
He moved with the kind of confidence that came from surviving things most people couldn’t. Before my subordinates were able to apprehend him, he vanished, as if he was never there in the first place. I couldn’t think about that right now. We had to get the kids out and regroup.
We sprinted through the darkened paths toward the vehicles, every shadow a possible threat. When we finally reached the safe house, I let out a long exhale.
“Well, that was a fucking disaster,” Dorin grumbled, sucking in deep breaths as he leaned against the nearest wall.
“It could have been worse.” I dropped into a chair, running a hand through my messy hair.
Dorin wasn’t convinced. “What now, Adelina? We’ll get the kids taken care of, but that guy—” he hesitated, his brow furrowed.
He had a point. Whoever he was, he had seen my face.
“Dorin, where the hell is my bag?”
He tensed, already turning to start looking, but I stopped him. “When he grabbed me… I got distracted and just ran.” A knot formed in my throat. “I didn’t even realize he was still holding onto my backpack when we split.”
Dorin stood frozen. “All right, all right. Not the end of the world, right? I mean, all you had in there were black roses, yeah? Who would be suspicious of that?” He was rambling now, his voice a little too high, like he was trying to convince himself. “I fucking told you, Adelina, tighten the straps and clip the front.”
Such an old man. Who the hell clips the front of their backpack?
“Right. Totally.” I forced a grin. “No one would be suspicious of that in this particular situation.”
The truth was that my alternate persona had gained a lot more traction lately. Great for our cause. If someone were to find out who I was, though—Ugh, fuck me.
Chapter 2
CEZAR
Iscrambled my way to the car I had hidden when shit hit the fan. I was still thinking about her by the time I got there. The woman who tackled me, straddled me, and threatened me. Fuck, my hard-on wouldn’t go away.
The car took a few tries to start. Even after it did, I sat there for a while replaying everything that had happened. I couldn’t shake the image of her. The way her hair spilled across her face while she sat on top of me, those piercing green eyes, the dagger pressed to my throat. My god, she was fucking perfection.
Even the way she held the dagger screamed experience. If we weren’t being shot at, I would have let her unmask me. I would have let her do whatever the fuck she wanted right then and there, not even caring who was around to see it.
Man, what is wrong with me?
My phone interrupted the thoughts I wanted to cherish. I am sure it was my brother texting me about the recent events. The events I played a part in, a part that he didn’t need to know.
With her NFL-style tackle, she stood shorter than I expected, maybe 5’8”—all coiled tension wrapped in a deceptively calm frame. What hit me harder was the look in her eyes, that quiet little thrill flickering, and the way she treated the kids like they mattered. Why the hell was she even there?
Maybe she liked to play just like me.
