Page 83 of Reluctantly His

They were all facing the hostages, with their leader pacing back and forth. While his men were demanding that all the women surrender their jewelry and were roughing up the other men for their expensive watches and wallets, he was demanding those with cellphones initiate wire transfers into a shady offshore account.

So clearly, not a typical smash and grab robber. These men were hoping for a high seven figure payout.

I needed to make a plan.

There was no way for me to sneak around and take out the assailants one by one. There was no way for me to easily kill more than one of them without risking hostage lives.

If I really thought about it, I didn’t give a fuck about the hostage lives.

I only cared about one.

It took me a moment to spot her.

She was standing at the front of the crowd. The sniveling prince was on one side of her. And her friend from the quartet, Ginnie, on the other.

At least she was alive.

All I needed was the right moment.

The leader strutted in front of them. “You people need to understand exactly how serious we are,” he said, holding up his Glock.

He turned toward the center of the crowd and took aim at Charlotte’s fiancé.

A small part of me was tempted just to let him shoot the smarmy bastard and take the moment of chaos as my opportunity to get in there and start disarming men.

It would mean one dead hostage, but over a hundred saved.

Including my girl.

Except that pathetic little bitch grabbed Charlotte and used her as a human shield just as the man opened fire.

I then watched the woman I love take a bullet and crumple to the deck.

CHAPTER 30

REID

Without thinking, without making a plan, just acting on pure instinct—the one thing that I was trained to never do—I lifted the pistol in my hand and shot the nearest assailant in the back of the head.

That was immediately followed by a single shot to the other men, all but the leader.

“Put down your weapon now,” he screamed, pointing his gun at me.

His hands shook.

He didn’t have the balls to shoot a man.

An unarmed woman, sure, but not someone coming at him.

I would have bet anything in that moment.

This wasn’t the man who had shot Hunter. One of his now-dead minions had done that.

The pistol I was holding was out of bullets, and I had forgotten to grab Hunter’s gun. Instead of reloading my gun, in case he somehow grew a pair in the split second that would have taken, I grabbed my standard USMC utility knife from the side pocket on my holster, flicked it open, never taking my eyes off my target, and threw it.

Knife throwing was not something I had been particularly skilled in, in the past, but it didn’t stop my blade from burying itself into the leader’s throat.

I ran to him first, stripping him of his AK-47 as well as several knives, his Glock, and a rope.

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