Page 101 of Marrying the Savage

He fires twice over his shoulder without looking.

One shot misses wide. The other hits my arm, not too deep, but a hot slice across the outside of my bicep, enough to make my grip tighten around the gun.

I keep moving.

He reaches the ground floor as Nikolai and two others force the attackers near the loading bay to retreat behind a delivery truck. The truck engine roars to life. One of the rear doors hangs open, showing nothing inside but empty space and two men firing from behind the frame.

Not an extraction. A distraction.

I see it too late.

“Mikhail,” I say into the comm. “South exit.”

Static.

Then Mikhail swears.

The captain is not running for the truck. He’s running for the south exit, where the old river gate opens to a narrow service road beyond the fence.

I jump the last six steps instead of taking them. Pain snaps through my knees when I land, but I keep my balance and cut across the warehouse floor. A bullet hits a crate near my head, sending wood splinters across my cheek. I fire once without slowing. The shooter drops behind the truck wheel and doesn’t rise.

The captain reaches the south door. He shoves it open, and cold air enters the warehouse.

I catch him before he clears the threshold. My shoulder hits his back, and both of us crash through the doorway into the service yard. Gravel tears under my shoes. He twists as we fall, landing a punch against my jaw hard enough to turn my head. I taste blood.

He’s good.

Not good enough.

I drive my elbow into his ribs, once, twice, then pin his wrist beneath my knee before he can reach the pistol at his ankle. He bucks, snarling now, all professionalism gone under the animal need to survive.

A black SUV waits beyond the fence. Its headlights cut across the yard. Someone inside raises a weapon through the open passenger window.

I grab the captain by the vest and haul him up just as the shot comes. The bullet hits him in the back, and his body jerks against mine.

The SUV reverses hard, tires spitting gravel, then swings toward the service road. I lift my gun and fire at the windshield.

Once.

Twice.

The glass spiders but doesn’t break.

Nikolai appears behind me with a rifle and fires a controlled burst into the rear tires. One tire blows. The SUV swerves, clips the fence, throws sparks from the metal, then keeps going on the rim, screaming into the dark until the road bends and swallows it.

The captain collapses against me. I lower him to the gravel. His mouth fills with blood. I press my hand hard against the wound in his back, not because I care if he dies, but because dead men answer nothing.

“Stay with me,” I say.

His eyes roll toward mine. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and broken.

“Who?” I ask.

His mouth moves, but only blood comes out.

I grip his vest tighter. “Who?”

His eyes fix on something over my shoulder, not fear now, not loyalty either. Just calculation dying too late. Then the light goes out of them.